


the spine of the world

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast), Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: (the main MCD is temporary), Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Robots, Temporary Character Death, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: There’s a sword - wait, no, rewind - there’s a man, and a sword, and the sword is sticking out of the man as he slumps against a pillar.Hamid doesn’t have to feel for a pulse to know he’s dead.He knows this man. He loves this man.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith
Comments: 28
Kudos: 37





	1. zeroes and ones

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn’t gonna post this for a bit bc it’s like half complete and i wanted it to be more complete but then shenanigans happened and jaime asked me to post this so here it is
> 
> the italics is zolf talking by the way! i don’t use his name until the end bc that’s kinda how the game goes anyway SO

Cloudbank. A city on the rise, a city that’s only clean when you aren’t looking at it. The name is a little on the nose, but everyone in the city has a lot more on their minds than worrying about that. The buildings rise up high above the streets, to the point of being confining; unless, of course, you’re rich enough to live above it all, in one of the penthouse apartments that tower over everyone else. It’s all luck of the draw, being famous in a place like this, but fame isn’t everything, and even fame ( _ especially _ fame) can get you killed if you aren’t careful. 

On a night like this, everyone should be at be theater, at one of the thousands of restaurants that litter the strip. Sultry lounge singers should be lulling them into a false sense of security, draped in finery and silk and  _ desire _ , brown eyes burning up with secrets that the owners use for blackmail until they’re dripping with cash.

On a night like this, the streets should be alive, torches flickering between different colors and different moods, all reflecting off the faces of those who don’t know how to be anything other than happy. In the red light districts, the dissatisfied chase another line, another drag, another moment of escape to get them away from their cookie cutter lives, all put together under the watchful eyes of the Harlequins.

On a night like this, Hamid tries to speak, tries to call out. He opens his mouth, and nothing happens, only a small gasp of air brushing against his lips. You  _ could _ say he’s had a night. If only he remembered any of it. 

He’s in half a golden dress, skirt torn and ripped, a long slit from one shoulder to the opposite hip that he’s covered up with a long jacket, too big for him but smelling like comfort and home. This is… less of an inconvenience that it would be normally, and maybe that’s due to the complete emptiness of the street around him, so uncharacteristic for Cloudbank at night, or maybe it’s due to the fact that Hamid can’t vocalize his frustrations anymore. He’d at least expected a few paps to be loitering outside of the main drag, waiting for a chance to catch him unawares.

It’s probably the eerie silence littering the streets that’s making the skin across his arms and up his neck crawl. He walks down a side alley and comes to an abrupt halt, because he’s no longer alone, no longer the only living breathing object within 100 paces.

There’s a sword - wait, no,  _ rewind _ \- there’s a man, and a sword, and the sword is sticking out of the man as he slumps against a pillar. 

Hamid doesn’t have to feel for a pulse to know he’s dead. 

He knows this man. He loves this man. Hamid falls to his knees beside him and reaches out with trembling hands, voice locked away somewhere deep behind him as he brushes fingers through the man’s ratty blonde hair. The man’s head lolls - there’s a trickle of blood running down his chin, dripping like dark red ink onto the pavement below. His skin is cold, too cold for this to have happened recently; Hamid wishes he could  _ remember _ , because the man he loves is lying dead against a pillar with a sword embedded in his chest, and Hamid has no idea why. 

The streets are silent, a quiet funeral rite that Hamid doesn’t have the time to appreciate. Pulling out the sword is harder than it should be, but then again, Hamid doesn’t have much experience with pulling metal out of a broken body, impaled through bone and flesh. It’s large, nearly the size of himself, and he grips the cool metal, dragging the sword along the ground as it sparks and vibrates in his hand. 

_ Hey, baby.  _ The voice is weak, as the sword flashes a bright blue, pulsating with an eerie glow that reflects against the nearby building.  _ You’re looking as beautiful as ever. _

The voice is familiar, so familiar that Hamid might weep with the relief of it, and he spares one more glance for the broken body of his love against the stone before he hefts the sword in his hands. He opens his mouth again, hoping against hope, but nothing. 

_ I know, _ he hears, and he doesn’t think a sword should be able to invoke that much personality into a few words, but, well. He almost expects nothing less.  _ Weren’t expecting to hear from me again, were you? _

Hamid shakes his head, and the sword gives a heavy sigh.  _ Sorry. I know this… is all confusing. Don’t understand a lot of it myself. You’re alright. That’s what I care about.  _

Hamid disagrees, but he’ll have to rely on nothing more than a glare to get his point across, considering he can’t exactly  _ speak. _

He knows he needs to get out of here. Needs to figure out what the hell happened last night, although seeing the body has given him enough of a clue. Everything is - is so fuzzy, so  _ confusing _ , bits and pieces scattered around in a puzzle Hamid’s mind refuses to make out. 

The sword drags around the ground as he walks, hurrying down side streets in a desperate attempt to find a shortcut back to the center of the city. He just needs to find the causeway, needs to get across the expressway, and then he’ll be able to  _ really _ close in. Here on the outskirts of town, he can’t do anything, can’t strike back at the people he suspects planned all this, the people who are sending the simulacra after him and intending to keep him quiet.

_ Look out!,  _ he hears, and turns his head just in time to see one of the simulacra ambling toward him, large mechanical legs scuttling across the ground. 

Hamid doesn’t have the time or the patience, and raises the sword. Energy crackles along the edges as he shots one, two beams at the robot, and it shatters. It’s an explosive burst of cogs and metal playing, and then the street falls as silent as the void.

He turns, and walks away, leaving the destruction where it is. If they want him dead, they’ll have to try a lot harder than this. The causeway is up ahead, and Hamid picks up the pace a bit, sword sparking as it drags across the ground. 

There’s a poster in front of him, large and spellbinding, and the voice make a soft sound of understanding as Hamid hesitantly walks up to it. It’s an advertisement for a concert, with Hamid’s own face splayed across it. He stands there for a moment, looking at himself, pressing a hand to the poster.

_ You always were so beautiful,  _ the voice says, and there’s a hint of regret underneath all of the understanding.  _ I’m sorry. You know… I loved coming to see you. It was - you shone on the stage, Hamid.  _

Those days are over, Hamid thinks, and drops his hand before stepping away, face hardening to stone. 

It doesn’t take long to cross the plaza, passing by familiar restaurants and bars, but the streets are entirely - wait. There’s someone at the other end of it, laying on the ground, right in front of the doors.

Hamid hurries over, but the closer he gets, the clearer it is that it’s a corpse, a lifeless shell left behind, another casualty in the great plan to make the simulacra more powerful. It doesn’t take long for Hamid to realize he recognizes this corpse as well. 

_ Grizzop _ , the voice says, leaden with grief, and then a conversation follows, one Hamid can only hear one side of, as the sword flickers a few times. A small ball of blue rises out of Grizzop’s body and fuses with the sword, a brilliant flash of light as Hamid squeezes his eyes shut. The body is still there but… the soul, the  _ trace,  _ whatever it is, is long gone, another addition to the demon sword in his hands. 

He can’t do anything for him now. Can’t do anything but keep moving doggedly forward, keep laying waste to the city and the robots that took everything from him. He leans down and shuts Grizzop’s eyes, presses a kiss to his forehead, and then he’s leaving again, pointedly staring into the camera on the edge of the street with a promise of retribution in his eyes. 

The door opens, and Hamid steps into the entrance of the causeway. He’s never seen it this deserted,  _ ever. _

_ Hamid, we’ve got some friends, _ the voice warns, and Hamid lifts the sword as more simulacra form around him, surrounding him with metal and chrome. He knows how to deal with them, now, knows how to focus enough that time nearly stops and he can attack all of them at once. The sword moves faster than he can really process, and then all of the simulacra are laying around him, scattered to pieces. Hamid wipes a bead of sweat off of his forehead and lets it drip to the floor. 

_ If I still had a heart, it’d be skipping,  _ the voice says, fond, and Hamid sneaks a smile at the sword, wrapping his coat tightly around himself. He needs to go back to the theatre, needs to go back to the stage, needs to travel to Goldwalk. There are secrets hidden among the shadows there, he can feel it crawling along his skin. That’s where the night began and where it ended, even though he awoke to find himself here on the other end of the city. How he got here is a mystery, and his love doesn’t seem to have any answers either.

They find a motorcycle quickly enough, and Hamid bites his lip as he recognizes it. 

_ My bike _ , the voice says, almost surprised.  _ But how is it… _

Not the time, Hamid tries to signal, squeezing the handle tightly. The voice quiets, and Hamid swings a leg over the bike, twisting the key in the ignition. The bike splutters and shakes, coughing lungfuls of black smoke that twist and curl as they rise up into the sky, and then the bike is humming, vibrating under Hamid. 

_ Take the causeway to the end and make a right. We can get farther to the edge of town that way, maybe get out of Cloudbank altogether if we’re lucky. Okay? _

Hamid nods as the bike roars down the expressway, wind blowing through his hair and coat and what remains of his dress.

Hamid makes a left.

_ What are you… _ the voice asks, confused, and Hamid doesn’t -  _ can’t  _ \- respond, just staring doggedly ahead at the buildings that rise above the clouds. He isn’t leaving. Not now.

_ Hamid, this isn't - you can’t do this. _

He can. 

_ Please. Forget about them. Get out of town. We can both be safe there. I - it’s not ideal, I know, but. Hamid, they’ll kill you.  _

Hamid disagrees. The voice is quiet for a moment.

_ I can’t stop you.  _

He can’t. 

_ Just… be careful. The city is - it’s not right, anymore, there’s something else at work here. Okay? _

Hamid nods. He can do that much. 

_ Whatever you do, love… _ , he says, and Hamid nods again, swallowing heavily. He knows.  _ Don’t let me go. _

He never will. 


	2. but i won’t save you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FORGOT TO POST WHOOPS anyways ENJOY
> 
> (abby i apologize in advance)

The motorcycle halts, stalls, and Hamid tries to kick it back into gear, tries to make it the last stretch to the theatre, but the bike’s dead. They’re not too far off now, a couple blocks, and Hamid’s walked far enough at this point, a little more isn't going to kill him.

He slides off the seat and grabs the sword, pulling it along with him. 

_ The boulevard, _ the voice says, and it’s almost nostalgic.  _ We used to go out here, after your shows. Buy some drinks, spend a couple hours, cater to your adoring fans… we had a good time, didn’t we.  _

They did. Hamid swallows around the lump in his throat as he walks on, moving ever-closer to the theater. 

There’s a station up ahead, one of the news trackers that Hamid has gotten used to here in the city. It’s a city where the people control what's happening, control what the weather is and what businesses stay open and what gets reported on. It’s a strange way to live, for sure, but he can use it. All of the surveys they send offer feedback boxes, and he might not be able to speak anymore but he can damned well still type. 

He pulls up the latest message - something trivial, something about the opera, and flicks through it until he sees the comment box blinking at him, cursor ready. 

**I’m so sorry,** he types. 

_ Hey, Hamid, it’s alright, _ the voice says, soothing, and Hamid wipes a tear away from his space before deleting the message and typing again. 

**I’ll find who did this. I promise** .

_ No promises last here in the city, love.  _

Hamid frowns at the sword, but there’s nothing else he can say. He steels his shoulders and types out one last message, hitting the enter key. The message blinks back at him, permanently ensconced on the screen. When there’s no one else left, this is what will live on.

**I’m coming. You can’t hide. - H**

_ A bold statement,  _ the voice says, but Hamid can hear the hint of pride and can’t restrain his own little smile. For so long he’s been hiding, been flying under the radar, but no longer. 

He’s going to fight. He’s going to make them pay. 

_ Careful,  _ he hears in his ear, an echo of a person long gone (or, well, considering everything, not that long).  _ Simulacra up ahead. More than last time.  _

Hamid can handle it. He walks down the street and sees the robots looking around, heads swiveling from side to side as they search for anything still left alive. Well, Hamid thinks. Might as well give them a target.

The sword flashes in the light given off from the buildings surrounding them, neon signs reflecting off the metal, huge corpses of a city that used to be alive. Hamid doesn’t think about it, doesn’t wonder, just strikes over and over again until the simulacra become nothing more than  _ scrap.  _ They’re dealt with easily enough; they still underestimate him, still think he’s too weak to fight back. It’ll be their undoing in the end. 

He hears a strange humming noise off to the side and finds an access point up ahead, a shining blue box with a strangely familiar slot in front of the monitor. 

_ We don’t have a lot of time, _ the voice warns, but Hamid needs to know, needs to see. He slips the sword into the slot and waits as the monitor sleepily blinks back to an illusion of life, screen brightening as it tracks the information from the sword.  _ Alright then.  _

**> >PLEASE WAIT.**

**> >USER IDENTIFIED. HELLO HAMID.**

_ Hi _ . 

**> >MEMORY FILES LOCATED. ACCESS MEMORY FILES?**

**Input: Y**

**> >LOADING MEMORY FILE: GRIZZOP DRIK ACHT AMSTERDAM.**

**...**

**A leading member of the resistance, Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam was infamous among the upper echelon. It’s rumored that he was part of the attack that brought down one of the Harlequins, a woman named Eldarion [LAST NAME REDACTED]. It had been long suspected that Eldarion [LAST NAME REDACTED] had defected, working against the Harlequins on her own means.**

**Amsterdam was last seen in the…** The file trails on, explaining some things Hamid already knew about, and some he hadn’t. He scrolls quickly to the end; they don’t have the time for him to read everything, as much as he wishes he could. 

**STATUS: Terminated.**

**> >SAVE FILE?**

**Input: Y**

**> > NEXT FILE? **

**Input: Y**

**> >LOADING MEMORY FILE: Z_LF SM_TH**

**…**

**DATA INACCESSIBLE. INFORMATION CORRUPTED. CONTINUE?**

**Input: ...**

**Input: N**

_ Suppose you found me. Seems they didn’t have too much time to get a handle on what I was up to. Not… important, I guess.  _

Hamid still touches the screen with his fingers, tears welling up in his eyes as he sees his love on the monitor. His face is nothing more than static, but Hamid would recognize him anywhere. A single droplet splashesnonto the terminal. 

Maybe he wasn’t important to them. But he was important to Hamid, so important, and so,  _ so _ loved.

_ We should go,  _ he says, soft, and Hamid pulls the sword back out of the slot as the monitor dies again, turning an inky black.

He’s right; Hamid turns away, and heads toward the theatre. Just one block away now. One block between him and… well, he supposes he doesn’t really know, but… he hopes he’ll find answers.

The terminal sinks back into the floor as Hamid walks away, sword held loosely in his grip as he drags it down the street. 

_ Oh, some more friends, _ the voice says, dry, and Hamid steels himself as he raises the sword up.  _ Look out. They’re upgraded _ . 

Hamid’s noticed as well, and hisses as one of the extra laser beams catches him on the arm before he can duck behind one of the barriers that’s materialized out of the ground. He swears under his breath, but, well. Nice thing about laser beams is that they immediately cauterize the burn. Still hurts like a motherfucker, though, and his left arm is going to be struggling to keep up until he can let it rest, get some medicine on and let it stitch itself back together. He doesn’t have time for a pity party, and lunges out from behind the pillar as he swings the sword. It drives right into the simulacrum’s central processing unit as it sputters and dies. Hamid uses it as a shield against the other one, waiting until he’s close enough, and then that one goes down too, in a shower of sparks and metal. He straightens and wipes some of the oil off his sword. 

_ Hey… what’s over there?  _ the voice asks, and Hamid glances left and right before he catches it, a small blue glowing platform flickering gently on the floor. He walks over to it and it reforms the closer he gets, before becoming a sleek white terminal. Another access point, then, and Hamid boots up the screen, frowning. It’s - it’s from some journalist, a face he recognizes, even with the scar trailing along his cheek. Oscar Wilde, back from the dead and writing to boot. He’d been missing for months; Hamid had rather thought he’d been taken down by the Harlequins after writing a scathing exposé on their dirty dealings. Must have gone into hiding instead. But he must be out and about now, if he’s publishing when everyone else is nowhere to be found. 

**NIGHT AT OPERA ENDS IN TRAGEDY, AND WE DON’T MEAN THE SHOW** , the headline screams, with  **Musical star Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan missing!** a small sub-header below. 

_ You made the news _ , the voice says. Hamid’s face, cut out from an old performance poster, dominates the screen, with an article in tiny text that Hamid doesn’t have the time to read right now. There’s no space for comments on the article either, so he just shuts the system down and the screen goes dull.

_ Still with me?  _ he asks, and Hamid nods, staring at his reflection in the dimmed monitor. There are cuts across his face, and bits of oil streaked across his cheeks. Anyone who’d seen him perform might not even recognize him now.  _ Good. We’re almost there _ . 

There’s a bridge that leads directly into the theater; it looks over the entire city, a mess of different colors that all wash together in the fog that’s building on the horizon. It’s still bright, somehow; a beacon in the distance. Hamid walks slowly over to the edge, staring out over the city.

_ Do you remember how we fell in love?  _ the voice asks, a nostalgic question, and Hamid leans out on the bridge, pretending he can feel his love’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, always so warm. The jacket he’s wearing still smells like him, and Hamid breathes in deeply.  _ We were leaving after one of your shows, and everyone else had gone home, and it was just you and me on the bridge, surrounded by snow and lights? Your hand was in mine, and I turned and looked at you, and I realised I wanted to be with you forever. You were… so beautiful that night. I couldn’t believe I was so lucky. I told you I loved you, and you told me you loved me. _

Hamid smiles, softly and only to himself. The voice is wrong. He might have fallen in love with Hamid then, but Hamid had been head over heels for him nearly since the moment they met, when he’d blocked paparazzi from getting photos of Hamid before laying one of the journalists out with a well-placed punch and hurrying Hamid away to a secret passage to get away.

He wishes he could speak. 

_ Hamid, I’m so sorry,  _ he says, regret clear in his voice, and Hamid wipes a hint of tears away from his eyes as he steps away from the edge, turning and walking doggedly down to the theatre. He’s sorry, too. 

In this world, they don’t have a lot of time to be sorry, to acknowledge how unfair it all is. There’s a body laying up ahead, and it’s another one Hamid recognizes.

_ No. Not Sasha.  _

Yes, Sasha. 

Her body is lying broken at the end of the bridge, off to the side of the doors that lead into the theatre plaza. Hamid falls to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he reaches out to check for a pulse, hoping for  _ something _ . But all he’s met with is cold skin underneath his fingertips.

A blue orb rises from her chest, spinning quickly, and Hamid leans back a bit, holding the sword in front of him as the light of the orb reflects off of it.

_ Hey, Sasha,  _ he says, and his voice is soft, broken.  _ I’m - yeah. I’m sorry too.  _ It’s another one-way conversation, Sasha’s trace responding only to the voice, only able to be heard by him.  _ Tell me what happened… you want to come along?... alright.  _ The trace is absorbed into the sword again in a blindingly blue light, and Hamid hefts the sword on his back. 

_ She’s gonna help,  _ the voice says, and Hamid smiles, a dangerous slash of his mouth. He’d expect nothing less. 

He straightens up and stares into the doors, pushing them open as he strides through. They’re both so close now, almost able to find the answers he’s been seeking. The theatre entrance is just on the other end of the plaza; Hamid just has to make it to the double doors.

The plaza is just as deserted as anywhere else; there’s a familiarity lurking here, even with how empty it is, and Hamid swallows heavily as he trudges onwards. He expects some more simulacra to show up, but he’s not going to argue if they don’t, and he makes it to the edge of the double doors without encountering any. The doors are locked, but that’s not a problem for Hamid as he brings the sword down on the chain, nothing more than a nuisance. It shatters, pieces crumbling to the floor in a series of clangs, and Hamid pulls the doors open and steps into the darkened auditorium. 

It’s just as he remembers it, still lit as though ready for a performance. The spotlight shines on center stage, illuminating a single microphone standing alone. Hamid walks up to it cautiously, waiting for someone (or, more likely, some _ thing  _ to jump out at him from the shadows in the audience. 

Nothing does, and as he grabs the mic stand, a sense of calm washes over him. He makes a sound, quiet, and still can’t speak. But the microphone amplifies his hum, echoing around the room. 

_ There you go, love,  _ the voice says, and the sword glows a little bit brighter, banishing some of the shadows from the crowd. Hamid tries again, a bit louder this time, note sustaining for longer as he tries to sing one of his favorites. 

_ You can do it,  _ the voice says, encouraging as always, and Hamid feels his chest flutter as his voice gets louder, echoing around the wings of the theatre, reverberating off the walls surrounding him. Words might still be lost to him, might be only just out of reach as they rest locked in his throat, but he can still hum. 

The music builds around him, and images begin to swirl in from everywhere as he sings. They dance in front of his eyes, shadows and memories of a time past. Hamid closes his eyes, and it’s almost like he’s there again, hearing people walking around him and talking quietly, the notes echoing around the room. It’s almost like he’s singing again, words coming out of a mouth that’s not his. 

He opens his eyes and he’s back on stage in front of an adoring crowd, smirking at his love sitting in the front row as he grabs the mic and sings. His dress, speckled with gold flakes all the way down, shines in the light, casting streams of gold across the theatre. It’s a triumph of a night, with the entire auditorium full of smiling faces and adulation as they all cheer for his voice, his song, his  _ presence.  _

His voice fills the room, a beautiful melody that dances around the walls, and Hamid sings and sings and winks at his love. There are a couple familiar faces in the crowd. Liliana, looking less than pleased with his performance, but he could care less about her opinion these days. Barrett Rackett up in a box seat, sitting next to Kafka, two men Hamid only recognizes from the posters of their faces plastered everywhere around the city, promising a bright new future as they look down upon the denizens of Cloudbank. He doesn’t know why they’re there, but it doesn’t matter much; a rich benefactor is still a benefactor, after all, even if Hamid isn’t completely sure what they stand for. 

The show ends and Hamid gives a bow to thunderous applause. Time skips for a moment, and he’s standing outside the venue, talking to a few of his adoring fans, who disperse soon enough as his dearest admirer rocks up to him with an affectionate smile, giving Hamid a quick kiss on the lips before they set off down the road together, Hamid’s hand resting gently in the crook of his elbow. 

“Look out!” he hears, a voice that comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once, and everything happens in slow motion as he sees the love of his life leap in front of him. There’s a sickening sound as metal pierces flesh, and then he’s crumpling to the ground as Hamid screams, grabbing onto him as he falls. Tears stream down his face as the blood pools under the both of them, and then the scene is changing again, and the darkness swallows them both. 

_ Hamid… are you… -lo… hear me?  _ Hamid can, just barely. It sounds like the voice is coming through a thick wall, and it’s muffled and confused. Hamid looks around, and then down at himself. He’s back at the beginning of where his memory of the night began, but it’s all starting to come together in the worst way. 

The gold dress is flowing, untorn, and his arms are bare as he shivers in the cold night air. He starts to walk forward, and the deja vu is all-encompassing as the buildings shift and move around him. 

_ Ha - can’t find… he… H - listen… you… please, don’t… me, not him…  _ There’s a voice, coming from somewhere up ahead, out of the alleyway, and Hamid stumbles toward it, desperate for any of this to make sense.

There’s a body leaning against a pole, clearly dead, and Hamid knows he’s been here before,  _ seen  _ this before. A sword, bright blue and sticking out of the man’s chest, glows, and a sense of relief and regret swells in Hamid’s chest.

_ Hey, Hamid, hey _ , the voice - the sword says.  _ There you are. Thought I’d lost you.  _

Hamid shakes his head. He remembers now, remembers how the night ended, remembers having to run. 

He still doesn’t know what happened to his voice, why it was lost, but the body on the ground is just as heartbreaking to see as it was the first time, and he can’t help himself from falling to his knees again. He pressed up against him, knocks their foreheads together, holds his hand, brushes a hand through his hair before it comes to rest on his (cold) cheek. 

_ I’m so sorry, _ he whispers, and Hamid blinks back the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.  _ I didn’t want to leave you like this.  _

Hamid didn’t want him to leave either, but choice has never mattered much in this place. There’s the illusion of it, of course. A poll for the weather here, a popularity contest there, but none of the choices  _ do  _ anything, not when it’s all being dictated from on high. 

He closes his eyes and leans in, pressing a kiss to the still lips of the man he’s always loved, and  _ breathes _ as the memory shifts around him, buildings fading into darkness. 

Hamid comes back to himself eventually. He almost wishes he hasn’t, when he looks up and recognizes the figure standing in front of him. 

_ Liliana.  _


	3. just collision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like how do u spell liliana’s last name anyway. i’m not gonna change it but i AM curious
> 
> also!!! i got art of this fic!!!! @chalroe on tumblr made art of hamid in the mc’s outfit from the game and i WEEP charlie this is beautiful anyway check it out: https://chalroe.tumblr.com/post/190214513887/little-hamid-in-reds-outfit-for-ohallows

Liliana Beecost. Tech genius extraordinaire, talented pianist, member of the highest social circles in the city. She’s rubbed elbows with all the Harlequins; all the performers have at one time or another. It’s the only way you can get ahead in this gig, the only panacea for a lifetime of mediocrity. Liliana was a star in the making, both on the stage and off, and left to her own devices, might have been the one running the whole city in a couple years. 

Hamid knows her a bit less formally than that, if you can believe it. They dated for a while before an ugly public split, after Hamid caught her backstage making out with the executive director of the theatre and Hamid’s ex-boyfriend, Gideon Langdon. 

It’s a bit of a shock to see her now, but there’s something… wrong. Her face is - her eyes aren’t the same. They glow, strangely, a weird golden light that looks similar to the wires of the simulacra currently wreaking havoc across the city. 

“Hello, Hamid,” she says, and there’s nothing but disdain in her voice now. “I had hoped you wouldn’t survive to make it here.” She sighs, disappointed, and spins a spear she’s holding in her hand. It’s a wicked piece of metal, barnes at the edges with some sort of liquid - Hamid assumes poison - dripping from the end of it.

Hamid can’t respond, and Liliana seems to know that by how cruelly she laughs. 

“This entire scenario… what was meant to be your final performance… it was all me. But you knew that, right, love? Perfect Hamid, so smart and handsome, the darling of the city…” She sneers up at him where he stands on the stage. “You should have known it wouldn’t **_last_ **.” Her voice distorts on the last word, a shifting grind as gears begin to spin, and then she’s moving, changing, as the metal built into her body expands.

She transforms slowly, and Hamid stares in mute horror as her limbs seem to - seem to separate, until he realizes they’re being held together by the same golden strands of wiring that the simulacra have. 

Whatever Liliana had been, this wasn’t her anymore. Not really. This was - this was a monster, a horrific mesh of machinery and metal that’s been warped and twisted beyond anything recognizable. Her laugh, though… her laugh is too similar, terrifyingly so, even with the discordant notes that run through it and echo across the theatre.

 _Hamid, run!_ He moves on instinct, reacting to the voice even as the spear passes through the space where he’d been seconds ago. It strikes the stage with a deafening clang, and Hamid scrambles away with the sword held high as he gets out of her reach.

She - _it_ crawls along the walls, scuttling around as the spear twirls, arcing in a golden circle as it moves. Hamid ducks under a beam and slides down the small hatch, crouching down and clapping a mouth over his mouth as his breath goes ragged. He can hear it moving, and tucks the sword behind his back in a half-hearted attempt to hide the glow.

 _Sorry,_ the voice whispers. _Can’t control it._

It’ll have to do. Hamid slides along the rafters, ducking behind different crates and barrels as he balances on the catwalk, carefully staying away from Liliana’s - the _creature’s_ eyes as it scans the theatre.

 **_“Come out, come out, little starlet_ ** ,” the thing that used to be Liliana taunts, a horrible mechanical voice that grates against Hamid’s ears. “ **_Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to kill me?”_ **

He does, but he won’t be goaded. The sword is being uncharacteristically silent, for once, and Hamid waits in the shadows, not making a sound as the beast passes by his hiding spot. He’ll only get one chance at this; he doesn’t have enough power or enough skill to face this thing in an all-out battle. 

It… sits, almost, as though it’s waiting for something, and Hamid knows it’s listening for the slightest hint of movement. He’ll have to be quick. Have to be ready to run, to jump, and he takes a nearly silent breath to steady himself before he’s up like a shot, over the crates and the railing in an instant. It turns, spotting him, but it’s much too late, and Hamid’s aim proves true.

He leaps down and buries the sword into its back, severing enough of the golden wires that the thing collapses, groaning, onto the floor. It shrinks as he stands on it, coughing gas and oil and metal as he drags the sword down its back, a terrifying whine of metal against metal, and then it’s like an exoskeleton is being peeled away. Hamid hops off as it gets too small, too shriveled, and stares down at its form with something that might be pity, had it not been the reason that the only remaining Trace of the love of his life was trapped in a hunk of metal himself.

Liliana crawls away, gasping and sputtering as a strange-colored oil leaks from her body. Her hair is matted and torn. It’s almost pitiful; Hamid’s not the same person he used to be, and mercy has no meaning here. The sword spears her with an almighty crack as it breaks the final connections. She’s the reason behind enough of this, behind him losing the love of his life to trapped in a sword, that he finds it hard to forgive her for anything. He’s not even sure it’s completely Liliana anymore, not some… perverted mess of what she used to be. She’d never been this cruel, this sadistic, and he thinks the simulacra might have had a bit more of an impact than she’d been anticipating when she’d gotten it grafted on to her skin. 

Too bad. 

The trace glows a bright blue, but the voice sounds less than happy when he speaks to Liliana. 

_Tell us where they are,_ he growls, and Hamid can’t help the slight shiver that runs across his skin at that. He can’t hear what else is said, but Liliana’s trace is absorbed into the sword as well as it shudders. 

_She’s useful for something, at least,_ the voice says, doing a wonderful approximation of disinterested, and Hamid shoulders the sword again, staring out over the bay. _I know where we need to go_ . _Head down to the docks._

Hamid listens, heading back out of the theatre and walking in the other direction from where he came. There’s a small dock right outside, with a boat sitting there. It might be too convenient, it might not, but he doesn’t really care one way or the other. He has to get to High Rise, has to get closer to the center of the city, where things are… wrong. 

The river is dark and deep, moving slower than normal as Hamid slips into the boat. It chugs away as he turns the key in the ignition, sputtering to life as the propellers begin to spin. It picks up speed as he goes, a low whine in the air as the engine whirs and clicks. 

He can still see Liliana’s broken form in his mind; as much as he had disliked her toward the end, he hadn’t felt any sort of pride in seeing how twisted she’d become. She’d invested in a technology that was doomed from the off, and he doesn’t fault her for _that._ She’d always been a bit of a risk-taker, a boundary-pusher… maybe that’s why she got bored of him so quickly. Maybe Gideon was ruthless enough for her tastes, even with the slime that followed him around, looking like hair gel and a winning smile that hid the danger beneath. But he knows who she was working with, now, and the thought chills him to the bone. 

_It’s the fucking Harlequins_ , the voice says, and there’s something bitter there. Hamid relates. 

The Harlequins are notorious around Cloudbank; or, well, as notorious as a group can get without ever existing on paper. They thrive in the shadows, behind-the-scenes, setting up figureheads and stooges to take up the limelight while they scheme and plot. It’s a magician’s trick - keep the eyes focused somewhere else while you make all the moves, and everyone calls it magic. The Harlequins had this in spades ( _and diamonds, and hearts, and clubs - get it, card suits? Their logos._ ) and everyone knew it was them who really ran the city. 

Le Gourmand. An alias, because no one has ever seen their face. The closest you can get is a description from someone who managed to get away from them, and those people don’t live very long at all. They’re a top-tier mobster with their fingers in nearly all the businesses in the city, running them into the ground unless they capitulated with their demands. They run the high rises, where all the elites stay. Who knows, maybe you schmoozed with them at a party after one of your recitals. They wear anonymity like a mask.

Barrett Rackett. He runs the lower levels, a rat in a cave that rules over everyone else through power and fear and _numbers._ He might be stuck in the darkness, looking up at the skyscrapers that tower over Cloudbank, but assuming he’s below any of them is just one way to be sure that you’ve signed your death warrant. He’s the closest to the top, made from years of killing off the competition (although don’t tell anyone in the city that, not if you don’t want to become the next target of his little gang) and whispering suggestions into the old man’s ear who really ran the city.

Guy Fawkes. Another alias, this time not some bad French but just named after some old, forgotten arsonist and activist, back from before Cloudbank was even in anyone’s head. Before the Country, before the Harlequins, back when the Earth was still sustainable for humanity without scientific intervention. A simpler time. She doesn’t control any part of the city; her talents lie… elsewhere. Ever missing the back of an earring? A scrap of a receipt you need? Maybe, just maybe, that one file with the list of banking information of everyone in your company? Sticky fingers, that one. Destructive fingers, too, but only at the Harlequin’s beckoning.

And then there was the top dog, ruling over all of them with an iron fist, as iron as it can be when no one’s allowed to see it. 

_Hades_. Pretty name for a shitty bloke. Definitely an alias (again. Really, Barrett should take a hint), definitely compensating for something. Hades - or Kafka, depending on who you’re talking to, is the eyes in the sky, the man who feeds information to everyone else in the system. He got where he was by eliminating everyone else who stood in his way; it’s rumored that Barrett is his protege, and some think that’s the only reason Barrett hasn’t deposed the old man yet. Kafka’s been at the top since before Hamid can even remember, treating the city like his own personal soap opera as he watches it all from on high. He lives in the tallest tower in the richest district - almost sounds like a fairytale. And maybe it is, if you’re him; for everyone else, it’s a bit of a nightmare, never knowing when his gaze will turn on you.

And, somehow, probably thanks to Liliana, Hamid’s been wrapped up in this mess, has through some means pissed off the most powerful group in the city. But what does power mean, when your city’s being run into the ground by robots that refuse to listen to anything but their programming, and you happen to have lost the code miles back? 

The Harlequins had power because they used fear like a weapon. Nearly everyone else in the city is dead, except for Hamid, and he’s not afraid of them anymore. They took his love away, and they’ll have to beg for mercy before he razes them all to the ground. 

The boat comes to a gentle stop as Hamid pulls the brakes, and then he steps outside the boat, carefully pulling the sword with him. 

_We made it to the canals_ , the voice says, and Hamid glances around as he nods. They look more or less the same; everything seems a bit whiter, more… simulated, than Hamid remembers it being, but it has been a while. They’d been content to stay in the theatre district, content to leave the center of the city to the people who didn’t care about being watched. It _might_ not be due to the simulacra slowly changing the landscape of the world to fit their own image. 

Hamid’s never been that much of an idiot. 

_I can feel some bots up ahead,_ the voice warns, and Hamid nods. It’s child’s play, dealing with the simulacrum now. They act the same, have the same style one after the other, and Hamid knows their weaknesses now. Knows how to end them, swift and silent. 

This is… different. One might call it hubris, but these are… they’re new. Upgraded, and way too many for him to fight. They’re scanning the streets as they almost seem like they’re… waiting for him.

 _You need to run_ , the voice says. Hamid wholeheartedly agrees, but he doesn’t see any way around the simulacra. 

No chance for it, then, he thinks, and takes a deep breath as he sprints out of the alleyways. The simulacra beep as they spot him, lasers firing as he covers his head and runs. One catches him in the arm but he can’t stop, can’t let himself be captured. He refuses to let himself look behind himself, but he can hear them scuttling across the ground after him if he runs. 

_Gondola! Left!_ He moves on instinct and, sure enough, there’s a gondola sitting there. somehow still functional as the buttons on its side blink lazily. Hamid throws himself forward onto the lift and slams the button. The grate slides closed and the simulacra slam against it but can’t make it in. He presses his back against the wall as the gondola slowly begins to rise, carrying him up to the next level. 

It’s just as dead silent as the first, but there’s no hint of simulacra running around as Hamid cautiously steps off the lift.

 _We made it,_ he hears, but doesn’t drop the sword from where he’s holding it aloft, ready for anything to leap out of the shadows. They’re able to see Highrise from here, the center is the city, where everything seems to be stemming from. Hamid crosses a bridge and pauses just in the middle, walking carefully over to the railing.

 _Is - is that Highrise?_ he hears, and nods slowly. _What the hell happened to it?_

Hamid doesn’t know. But it looks… he knew it would be wrong, knew that the simulacra started there, but this is… the skyline is different. Buildings that used to be there are completely missing, and others, white pillars of nothing, stretch high above the clouds circling the city. There’s an eerie golden glow wrapping around the city, the same color that runs through the simulacra’s veins. 

_We need to move faster_ , he says, and Hamid agrees. Whatever’s happening, it’s happening quick, and if Hamid even wants to have a chance to confront the people who did this to them both, he’s going to have to get there before the simulacra can change it irrevocably. 

He walks the rest of the bridge and steps off onto a familiar street - he only lives a few (vertical) blocks away; once they find another gondola and head up a couple of levels, they’ll be even closer to the target. 

There’s another terminal up ahead, and Hamid walks over to it, tapping at the screen as a news article pops up with a familiar byline.

 _Wilde’s still out there,_ the voice says, almost surprised. Hamid thought he was the only one left - him and some of the Harlequins, maybe. But, no, the journalist is still around and kicking if he’s still providing updates as the city shifts and changes around them. 

**EVER-POPULAR HIGHRISE SKYLINE LOOKING UNFAMILIAR? ITS NOT JUST YOU.**

Hamid doesn’t have time to read the article, but Wilde seems to have noticed the city looking wrong, describing how the pillars of white, faceless buildings have risen out of nowhere. There’s no mention of simulacra anywhere in the piece, or even robots, or the Harlequins, so either Wilde is a worse journalist than Hamid thought, or he’s omitting the information for a reason. He doesn’t have any clue what the reason is, but Wilde should be telling the people what to look out for, make sure that they’re safe. 

If there’s even anyone left. 

**Post a comment?** the terminal prompts.

**Everyone… if there’s anyone even out there, you can’t fight this. Run. Now. -H**

He steps back from the terminal as the comment fills the screen. There. It’s all he can do. 

_There’s a lift over here,_ he hears, and glances around. _On your right. Forget I can’t point, sometimes._

So there is. It looks still in working condition, but Hamid supposes that it isn’t the simulacra’s first instinct to cut the power. He steps in and hits the button to get to the next few floors. It rises slowly, just like the others, and Hamid braces as it gets closer to the top. Everything’s been too quiet around here, too… too _calm_ for a city that’s skyrocketing toward its last breath. 

It’s a good thing he got ready; the second the grille opens he’s ducking behind the wall as a blast of laser fire comes in his direction. More simulacra, then, although not nearly as many as before. These, he can take.

And take he does. 

The sword sings as he arcs through the air, and _laughs_ as he does. Hamid can’t help the smile that cracks his blank stare. It’s almost child’s play, now, a dance as he slices through the simulacra like butter, oil spilling from the gashes he leaves. They sputter and die behind them, vanishing in a pop of code and electrics, leaving the street silent and empty. Hamid breathes in, breathes out, and the sword sparks along the cement once more as he moves forward, letting it drag behind him. 

_You’re incredible,_ he hears, and smirks again, running a quick hand along the top of the blade. _Yeah, yeah, I know, you know. Still can be said._ Hamid laughs, low in his throat, and keeps going. 

They make it to Terrace Apartments before long. It’s a tower made completely of one-way windows, stretching high up into the sky, so far up that the top is hidden by the clouds starting to roll into the city. It’s nothing more than a pretty lie, with expensive apartments and gorgeous scenery hiding the shallowness lurking within. Hamid lives - _lived_ here, for a while, rooming with a friend from uni. His name was Bertie, and Hamid hasn’t heard from him in years, except for a single postcard a year ago saying that Bertie was having the time of his life up in Highrise, schmoozing with all of the top dogs of the city. Well. Look at it now. 

He leaves the apartment behind, fading into the distance. The memories he had there… he doesn’t really care about them, anymore. They’re remnants of a time long gone, a _person_ he… isn't, anymore. Hasn’t been in a while. 

It doesn’t matter. He has other problems to handle.

 _What…?_ he hears the second he crosses some imaginary line into another district, and the sword’s voice is more distant than he should be, sounding more distorted than he has been. _Oh, that’s… not fun._

Hamid looks down, worried, and the sword is blinking gold, a slow pulse of light that drowns out the bright blue of his shine. He can’t say anything, can only make a stressed out humming noise as he leans down in front of him, begging for him to be okay. 

_I’m - wow, this hurts, er - I’ll be okay. Maybe just… move a little bit quicker? Feels like something - something’s tap dancing on my skull._ The sword laughs, slow and discordant. _Hey. Hamid. Hey, Hamid. I don’t have a skull anymore._ The voice is… wrong. It’s still him, still the man Hamid loves, but there’s an echo now, a strange distortion to the voice that overlays his normal tone, and something in Hamid’s blood runs cold.

They need to move faster, need to… Hamid doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s causing this, what made it happen, and, more importantly, what could make it _stop_. There’s not really anyone he can ask, not when all the Harlequins are either dead or holed up in their tower stretching over the city. Maybe if he finds an accent point, he can get a message to them, can figure out what the hell this is, but… communication systems are down across the entire city, and he doesn’t even know what the Harlequins are able to see. Not when the simulacra are starting to change things, starting to… shift things around. Hamid doesn’t know how they’re doing it, doesn’t really understand, but he’s currently en route to the one place that might be able to explain it to him.

 _Hey, love,_ he hears, a slurred voice. _Think we - think we have company._ The sword giggles at that, his laugh a low rumble that crumbles against Hamid’s chest, and then Hamid is backing up against the wall of a nearby building as a golden light shoots through the square he’s standing in. Pillars of binary code shoot up from the ground below, white boxes that release simulacra as they scrabble across the ground. 

_Well, this seems unfair,_ the voice grumbles. _One against ten? Seems they’re - they’re a bit scared of you._ He laughs again, and then there’s a content sigh in Hamid’s ears. _Scared… they should be…_ he trails off, almost dreamlike, and, oh, if Hamid didn’t hate this before, didn’t suspect something was wrong, he absolutely would now. It almost sounds like he’s been drugged, but how the hell do you drug a sword? 

The golden light is getting a bit more ominous as well, spreading down in thin lines across the flat side of the sword. Hamid doesn’t like this. It’s too similar to the simulacrum, too close, but Hamid doesn’t have the time to stop and consider it. The simulacra are moving closer steadily, surrounding him on all sides - nearly, he realizes. There’s a single gap in the wall pressing toward him, and he runs for it. This many, he can’t fight, not at once. He needs to get them separated, break them into smaller groups that he can handle. It shouldn’t - shouldn’t be too hard, yeah? 

He grips the handle of the sword a bit tighter. 

_Woah, Hamid, buy me dinner first,_ he slurs, and Hamid spares the second it takes to glare down at him, knowing he probably can’t see it but not caring anyway. Gods. Not like he can say anything back. 

So he runs. It’s his only move, for now, considering how close they are, how outnumbered he is. The simulacra scramble after him, metallic legs clicking along faster than he can go, and he knows he only has so long until they’ll catch up with him. 

_Run, run, as fast as you can,_ he says, singsong, and Hamid wishes more than ever he could swear under his breath but, well. His throat still seems to be massively out of commission. 

And then, up ahead… a spot of light. There’s a backdoor along the side. Hamid hasn’t seen one in… gods, _years_ , maybe. Small doors that lead to - Hamid isn't sure. A blip in reality, a temporary mainstay that Hamid is nearly certain that the simulacra can’t get through. He just has to hope, at this point. The - Liliana was absorbed by the sword, she - 

Liliana. They were - the Sandbox. Hamid forgot. They were all her inventions, all the different backdoors built across the city that grant you a temporary reprieve - of course, only if you have the access pass you need. Liliana’s Trace… it’s part of the sword now, part of the weapon, and if Hamid has the sword, has her _trace_ … the calculations run through his mind, possibilities streaking across his thoughts, but he doesn’t have _time_ for this, he has to - 

Hamid runs, dodging simulacra left and right until he can throw the door open, and then he’s stumbling inside, slamming the door behind himself and praying to gods that he doesn’t actually think exist that it worked, that Liliana’s trace was enough to get them in. He slumps back against the door, running a hand through matted hair, and leans his head back against the metal. 

The Sandbox looks… well, the same as it always had, he supposes. The description is all in the name, after all. It’s like a small abandoned island, sand crunching under his feet and blowing gently as a simulated wind comes from nowhere. There’s a hammock in the corner, swaying back and forth, and an old, gnarled tree at the edge of the sand, twisting up into the stark blue sky. The moon, ever present in this pocket reality, shines too big and too close, and the sound of waves lapping on the sand tickles against Hamid’s eardrums. 

He and Liliana used to sneak off here after his shows, when she was in the depths of her research and still eager about it, still excited to show off the advances she’d made. She and Hamid had laid together on the golden sand, fingers twined together, her head on his shoulder, looking up at the fake stars above their head as they planned out a future together. This was… years ago, now. Before Hamid met the love of his life, before he moved out of Terrace Apartments, before making the decision to be with him forever…

The ring he gave Hamid, with a stark black spade the only mark on a perfectly silver band, glints in the moonlight. They hadn’t been _married_ , god, no. Not yet, at least, although Hamid hadn’t been opposed to the idea in the slightest. Just… never had been a good time, what with Aziza, Saleh, Feryn… everything seemed to happen so soon, there hadn’t been _time_ to even plan it, although the idea had been discussed. This gift had been… nothing more than a promise, at the time, and Hamid would kill anyone who tried to take it away from him now. But that’s a story for another time. A thought for another time. 

It’s impossible not to feel calm in this place. Hamid looks down at the sword at his side and wishes, just for a moment, that they could both stay here forever. Away from the simulacra, from the Harlequins, from all the power-hungry monsters eager to take their own bite out of the city. 

He pushes off the door and walks to the center of the room - that’s all it is, really, even if the ocean looks as though it stretches out for miles. The record player is still standing at the base of the tree, a final addition added at Hamid’s request, and upon a quick glance, all of his favorite albums are still here, looking as brand new as the day Liliana programmed them. 

It’s all an illusion, a hologram. Nothing more than an imagined ideal of peace and safety, but gods be damned if Hamid isn’t going to cling to it for as long as he can. He goes and sits in the hammock, rests the sword against the worn bark of the tree and lies down, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the waves. 

_Gods…_ he hears, a long groan followed by a sigh. _I don’t know what that was, but fuck if it didn’t hurt. Felt like I was… being_ **_squeezed_ ** _or something. Didn’t feel like myself._

Hamid reaches out and pats the hilt, the best comfort he can give. _Where… oh. The Sandbox. You found a door?_

Hamid nods, pointing over at the corner, where you can still barely see the outlines of a door. _Perfect._

They sit there together in silence for a while, but it was never going to be able to last. 

_You have to go back out there_ , the voice says, hiding the fear and resignation well enough for everyone except Hamid and maybe Sasha, before her untimely demise. _The simulacra are going to start firing the second you step out._

They are. 

_Be careful._

Hamid left careful behind a while ago. But he’ll try. 

_I love you, Hamid. You know that?_

He knows. He loves him, too. But loving him alone won’t bring him back - Hamid has a job to do.

He reaches out and grabs the door handle, smooth and warm under his palm, and steps out into a firefight.


	4. twisted and tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve slowly realized that all of the chapters in this fic are gonna hover around 6k

The fight is hell. The fights are always hell, always have been, and they just keep getting more difficult as the simulacra start to learn what he does, how he fights, and come back more powerful, more upgraded, and everything becomes harder. Hamid fights for his life, swings his sword like the simulacra are the ones personally responsible for taking his love away, and ignores the pain when they get some lucky shots in on him. It’s a bitter battle, and Hamid snarls as his hand tightens on the hilt of the sword before he brings it up and digs it into the neck of another simulacra. 

He’s surrounded on all sides, but that’s slowly thinning as his sword spins through the air. A couple of the snapshots keep blinding him as he turns, before he buries the sword through them.

The street is silent, finally. He breathes heavily, in and out, letting his arms finally drop as he surveys the sparking simulacra laying in a circle around him. He straightens up a runs a hand through his hair, brushing a few stray strands out of his face.

_ Hah. Always did look perfect. My star, _ the voice murmurs, sounding a bit out of it, and Hamid leaves the simulacra behind him, dead and leaking oil onto the dusty street below. He has to find out what’s going on with the sword, has to figure out how he can fix it. 

_ Mmm. I’m hungry, love,  _ he hears, and then a peak of laughter.  _ Wait, I can’t - I can’t eat, what am I like? _

It’s getting worse by the second, and the golden glow coming off of the sword seems like it’s getting brighter. Maybe Hamid can find another backdoor, can let him take a breather before… whatever influence or compulsion or hold this is completely takes him over. 

They’re getting closer to Rackett Towers every second, and Hamid is begging and hoping and praying that that way lies answers. It has to - it’s where the Harlequins holed themselves up for years on end, where they rule the city from. The simulacra was always their doing, a little experiment that clearly got exceedingly out of hand, but if they created the simulacra, maybe they know something about the sword as well. Liliana had hinted a bit about it, back in the opera, and Hamid needs to know how to reverse it, how to bring him back. 

He’s lost enough. He refuses to give up, now. They did this to him. Made him… this. Seeking vengeance, seeking solutions… the Harlequins could have left them both alone. But they must have been chosen for a  _ reason _ , one beyond Liliana’s petty jealousy… right? 

Hamid isn't sure anymore. But the sword doesn’t seem like he’ll be any help at the moment, humming along to himself as the golden glow spreads. Hamid just has to keep moving, keep running; it feels like he’s on a countdown clock slowly ticking down to the end of the world, and any hesitation, any waiting, spells out the end for both of them, not just the city. 

He turns down another block. There’s no simulacra in sight, which bothers him more than actually seeing some. Enemies closer, and all that. He’d rather know what they were doing instead of wondering what they could be planning behind the scenes. Whether or not the Harlequins still have any modicum of control is a mystery, but Hamid is inclined to think they don’t. Not anymore. Not when the city is being rewritten before their eyes.

_ Hey - Hamid. Were all these white pillars here before? _ he hears, and glances around.

No. No, they weren’t.  _ It’s like a… a spaceship or something. Oh, we should go on a spaceship, those seem fun.  _

Hamid leaves the sword to his rambling, going over to one of the pillars. It’s smooth to the touch, and doesn’t feel like any metal he’s seen before, but it’s also clearly not plastic. It’s too strong for that, too durable. He swings the sword at it and it does nothing, just clanging against the metal as Hamid’s arms shake from the impact.

_ Ow, _ he hears, followed by another laugh.  _ I can’t feel anything anymore. Isn’t that funny? _

Hamid gives the sword a worried look. He doesn’t like this. To be honest, there’s a whole hell of a lot that he hasn’t liked about the past 24 hours, but hey - in a world slowly being taken over by a robotic force stronger than nearly any human alive, beggars don’t really get to be choosers. 

But then again, Hamid’s never really been a beggar, anyway. So he trudges, sword making zero sense at his side, and decides that there will be answers ahead, and that he will figure out just what the hell is going on, and he’ll fix this entire thing, bring back his love, and get the hell out of town. His mind’s made up. 

There’s a screeching noise from across the bridge and Hamid freezes in place, knocked from his thoughts. That’s not a sound he’s heard any of the simulacra make before; it’s louder than sin and grates against his eardrums, a discordant scratch of noise that leaves his skin crawling. He thinks he sees a glimpse of whatever the hell it is, a barbed tail of white and gold with strange etchings along the side, but that’s all he can make out before it’s gone again, vanished between the buildings.

He runs up a set of stairs. All that’s left to do now is climb the tower and avoid that  _ thing _ as long as possible. He looks up - the tower stretches into the clouds, higher up than he can see. Rackett Towers. Barrett Rackett, one of the most notorious Harlequins for his sadistic nature, built it decades ago. Only the gods know how it’s still standing without looking as though there’s even a slight dent in the tower. The rumor mill surrounding the tower is endless; stories of hopeful young starlets going in bright-eyed and coming out with debts up to their eyelids, of young kids being recruited as Barrett’s watchful eyes - Sasha was one of them, and Hamid doesn’t know if her Trace is strong enough in the sword to know where she is, but he feels bad for bringing her back here in any shape or form. 

But even with all the stories swirling about, Hamid knows one thing to be true: Barrett Rackett is a powerful and terrifying man who ruled the underworld from the tallest tower in the land, and ruled it with an iron fist. Everything that happened, every dealing, went through him or Le Gourmand, but everyone knew it was really him who was in charge. Dirty dealings, underground fighting rings, drug dealers on the corner… they all owed a cut to Barrett, and gods help the poor soul who tried to sell him short. 

Hamid makes it up another floor. The sword is still talking aimlessly at his side, but Hamid can barely make out what he’s saying. It can’t be a good sign in the slightest, but all he can do is move quicker. Maybe, if they’re lucky, a backdoor will show up. Hamid knows they’re littered throughout the city, but Liliana never showed him each location. She was cagey like that. And, to be frank, Hamid isn’t feeling particularly lucky today.

There isn’t a backdoor when he makes it across a small bridge connecting two sides of the tower, but there is another access terminal, and Hamid pulls it up. It’s not much, anyway, just a question about the simulacra and its effects on humans. Hamid’s pretty sure that the only effect it has on humans is a swift and violent  _ death _ , but this poll asks about symptoms of being a victim of one of the simulacra running around the city. One option is blue veins spreading across your skin, another is forgetfulness, another is feeling like you’re being controlled… Hamid looks down at the sword in his hand and swallows, selecting the third option, but there’s no helpful response beyond a canned  **“Thank you for your feedback!”** message, followed by the terminal blinking red.

**Residents are encouraged to stay inside their homes as much as possible to avoid contamination.**

**Post a comment?** Hamid might as well.

**Staying inside won’t save you. Get out of the city. -H**

There. Warning updated. Hamid steps back from the terminal as the screen grows dark, and runs off into the streets. He’s just scaling the tower at this point - it’s a huge monstrosity, and it almost feels like he’s running in circles even though he knows each spiral brings him up a level. There’s so many levels, so many floors, if Hamid doesn’t find a gondola to bring him up a few soon, his legs are going to be tired. 

_ Oh, the admin building,  _ the voice says, sounding a bit farther away than it has.  _ Hey - Hamid. If the admin building is completely empty, who admins the admins? Get it?  _ He breaks off into another round of laughter while Hamid grimaces. It’s getting worse, not better, the higher up they get. He goes up to the door of the administration building and tries the handle. The administrators handle all of the terminals in Cloudbank, and have information on nearly every citizen on record. If Hamid could just get in, he could - the handle jams. Locked. 

He could try picking it, but he doesn’t have the right tools, and he definitely doesn’t have Sasha’s skill. The doors are solid steel, so kicking them in wouldn’t do anything except probably break his foot. He could try the sword, but he’s scared it would just damage it, and he doesn’t know what happens if the sword breaks, not with all the Traces its carrying. 

He leaves the admin building behind as he continues, going up another step of stairs. The top of the tower is still out of view, still obscured by the clouds, but he’s getting there, slowly and surely. And, god, miracle of miracles, a gondola. It still looks to be working, even if the electricity seems like it’s being shut off at random across the city, and Hamid steps inside the lift and presses the button to bypass a few of the floors. 

_ Going up,  _ the voice slurs, and Hamid just nods. Going up. 

There’s another inhuman screech and Hamid catches another glimpse of the strange gold and white tail as it curves around the gondola he’s in. He tenses, backing up to the wall with the sword held out in front of him, but it either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because it vanishes again, into the night. 

Once again, Hamid  _ really _ doesn’t like this. 

The gondola comes to a complete stop, grille opening, and Hamid steps out, eyes darting in every direction as he watches for another glimpse of the monster. 

He turns, and looks. In front of him is a bridge, completely uncovered, connecting both halves of the tower - just like there’d been below, but something in Hamid’s mind is warning him, telling him not to go. He doesn’t have any other options, not if he wants to get to the top, but putting himself completely in the open like that, well. It’s not going to go well.

He’ll have to run. Have to go as fast as he can so as to not be caught, because he  _ knows _ that this is going to be easy pickings for whatever the hell he keeps seeing flying between the buildings. He swings the sword over his back and secures it with some rope he finds in the pocket of the coat. Running with a giant sword won’t be easy - he’ll need to be able to move quickly, and holding a sword will slow him down. This is the best idea he has. 

The tail of the thing flashes through the air and Hamid moves, darting forward as it lands heavily, spearing the place where Hamid just stood. He doesn’t have time to consider anything anymore, he just has to run. Out of the corner of the eye, he can see the beast - it’s _massive_ , bigger than he thought, and the tail is whipping around the bridge, slamming down where Hamid is just after he dodges. _On your_ _left,_ the voice slurs, but it’s a little bit too late, Hamid’s already moved. 

He has a couple of too-close misses, tail whistling next to his body as he leaps away from it, and then he’s running again. His feet slam against the pavement, arms pumping, but the sword on his back is secure. He vaults over a bench, a feat he wasn’t completely confident he could do, and runs more, at a breakneck pace, toward the other end of the bridge. 

The tail clips him in the arm and he shouts in pain, blood spilling onto the too-clean surface below. He grunts and keeps running, only just staying out of reach of the thing. It gives an almighty roar, and he still can’t even  _ see _ the thing, just shadows and glimpses and that nasty barbed tail shooting out at him. 

_ Hey, you heffing great dragon thing, stay away from him,  _ the voice slurs, and the thing screams again, an eldritch sound that rings against Hamid’s ears as he finally makes it through the last stretch, diving under the cover of the building and curling up behind the doors. Everything is silent, all of a sudden; the creature makes no more sound as Hamid leans against the doors and pulls the sword off of his back. It’s still glowing a faint golden color, and he presses his forehead to the stone in the center, feeling the cool metal against his skin. He  _ has  _ to be okay. 

_ Where’d - where’d everyone go?  _ the voice says, sounding almost tired.  _ S’like we’re the only two people left in the city.  _ Hamid is scared to think that he might be right on that one. It’s… it’s telling that the only people they’ve run into have been dead, and they haven’t even seen a hint of a person hiding in the shadows of the buildings, a clue that could lead them to anyone. It might be the case that the only people in the world that are still alive are the Harlequins, sitting pretty in their tower, safe from the process rippling through the city and changing it to their image. 

Hamid stands up slowly, and is tempted to open the doors of the tower he’s stood in, but decides against it. If the dragon thing really is gone, then there’s no reason for him to waste time, and if it’s  _ not _ , well, even less of a reason to look out there. He’s safe in here - for a reasonable measure of safe, that is, disregarding all the other shite as the city falls apart around them. At least there aren’t any simulacra running around, waiting for his guard to drop so that they can attack, here. As far as situations go, he supposes it could be worse. It could also be much,  _ much _ better, but he’s not going to focus on that. 

Onwards and upwards. He follows another staircase to another level, slowly scaling the building inside the tower. It’s inevitable that he’ll have to go back outside, back out to face the dragon, but he’s hoping to delay that particular confrontation for as long as he’s able. 

It’s almost peaceful, in here. The only sound is some water dripping into a puddle, a constant noise that Hamid finds nearly comforting. He takes his time, on the stairs. The Harlequins can’t go anywhere, not without risking themselves, so Hamid can be a bit more leisurely than before. 

But, then again, the sword is still…  _ wrong. _ He has no idea how to fix him, how to bring back the man he loves, and the Harlequins might not know exactly how either, but he bets that they’ll have a better idea than he will. And he keeps saying things that make zero sense, although he’s been quiet enough since they’ve gotten in the tower apart from a few intermittent groans and hushed whispers that Hamid can’t make out. Suffice it to say, he’s worried. 

He makes it up another flight, breathing a bit heavier than before. There isn’t a gondola anywhere in sight, nothing that can effortlessly carry him up a few flights of stairs and give him a moment to breathe. Hamid wasn’t built for this, as much as he’s adapted to it over the past day. He’s had to, obviously, but these kinds of… lifestyle changes, maybe, hadn’t been anything he’d been expecting.

No one had, really. Except the Harlequins. They knew exactly what they were doing to the city, exactly how their little science project would bring the city to its knees. And now there’s no one left to hold them accountable for how they broke the city. Well. No one but Hamid.

He sees another access terminal up ahead. He doesn’t know if it’s even worth going to check out at this point - everyone is probably dead, anyway, but maybe there will be something. Some clue he can use to understand everything that’s going on, some reassurance that the entire city isn’t as completely and utterly fucked as he’s pretty sure it is. He leans the sword against the terminal and presses the screen, waiting as it lights up. 

Oh. Oscar Wilde is still alive. Maybe Hamid isn’t completely alone in the world anymore - although he knows that there’s no chance of him actually finding Wilde, not when he doesn’t have the time to look. 

**STRANGE DRAGON-LIKE CREATURE CLIMBING THE TOWER!** says the headline, with a smaller subheading reading:  **WHAT PRINCESS IS IT LOOKING FOR?**

Well, that’s definitely Wilde. He scans the article quickly, but there’s no more information than he has. It’s big, white and gold, and had a nasty tail. Wilde says it was last spotted a floor below the one Hamid is on now. He laughs bitterly - he’s not sure how Wilde missed it almost killing him, but, well. He doesn’t have the time to be upset about it. 

He scrolls to the end of the article and elects to leave another comment. No one is looking at these, he knows that, but he’s not typing for them. It’s the only way he can communicate now, considering the fact that voice ran away somewhere and hasn’t come back. 

**Are you alright?**

_ Yeah, baby,  _ he hears, and it’s still tired and distorted. His heart sinks to the floor at how resigned he sounds, and he wipes a tear away from his eye before it can fall. 

**You need to hold on please hold on.**

_ Doing my best. For you. _

**I can’t lose you. Not again.**

_ I can keep it together, don’t - don’t you worry, alright? _

**I love you.**

_ Yeah, _ the voice says, sounding almost inordinately fond.  _ You too. Let’s go _ . 

Hamid deletes the message and submits it without comment, watching as the screen of the terminal fades to black. He shoulders the sword and stares up at the stairs in front of him. Nothing to do but continue on. 

_ I think,  _ he hears, and half stops, paying attention to what he’s saying.  _ I think it’s that thing that’s messing me up. Affecting me, like this. It…  _ he trails off, and Hamid waits, mindlessly heading up.  _ Sorry, I - my head’s a bit of a mess now. _

Hamid doesn’t blame him.  _ I think - whatever this thing is, it’s in my head, somehow. It feels like I'm drowning, again, like I can barely breathe, and I’m not - not all there, anymore. I’m having to fight to keep myself above water.  _ He sighs, resigned, and Hamid’s heart kicks up a notch.  _ It’s better, in here, but the second we go outside, the second it gets close… I’m going to be weird again, I know it.  _

Hamid tries to convey that it’s okay as he gently pats the blade, but he’s not sure it gets through. He makes a comforting hum with his voice, and it’s not loud, but in the vast, empty expanse of the tower, it echoes. 

_ … Thanks, _ he hears.  _ Just - just keep going. I’ll be fine. I promise.  _

He’s never been very good at lying to Hamid, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. Hamid presses his lips together as his hand tightens on the hilt of the sword, and they advance. 

Another set of staircases inside the tower, and still no simulacra in sight. Hamid isn’t going to complain, not when it makes his journey easier. There’s a small bit of his brain that’s sounding alarms, because they can’t all have disappeared, but Hamid’s willing to ignore it until it reaches critical mass. He can’t focus on that right now; he just has to keep scaling the tower. And, god, he thought it was smaller than this? It always looked tall, the way it became an ominous beacon overlooking the city, the main hub for nearly all the people in power. There were so many stories about people going up there and disappearing, so many old wives tales about what they were working on, but no one had ever predicted  _ this.  _

_ Hey…  _ he hears, and glances down at the sword. His voice sounds distant, now, weak, and Hamid’s heart skips a beat for a moment as he remembers what he said about drowning.  _ Are you still there? _

Shit. Shit, shit,  _ shit _ . Hamid makes a quiet hum and kneels down in front of the sword. He - he doesn’t know how this works, if this will even help, but he holds onto the hilt tightly and presses his forehead against the sword.  _ Oh. I think - I think I feel you, _ he hears, but it’s so goddamn tired and quiet that Hamid can barely even make it out.  _ Sorry, I - I’m really trying, I am,  _ he whispers, and Hamid brushes away the frustrated, terrified tears that start spilling down his cheeks. He - he can’t be alone here, not in this too-still world, he can’t lose him, he  _ loves him _ , and he can’t even say any of that because of some fucking Harlequins that stole his voice, but,  _ god _ , he wishes he could. All he can do is press his forehead even more against the sword and hum. His voice is cracking, but he still tries, humming his favorite song as loud as he’s willing to. 

_ I love you,  _ he says, and Hamid hates how final it sounds, how weak he sounds, and he bashes his fist against the ground as the pain in his chest expands, rolling across his body.

That dragon is going to  _ fucking _ die. 

Hamid finally makes it to the top of the tower and stares at the doors. He’ll have to go across the bridge again to the other side to climb up the rest.  _ Be careful, _ he hears, and it sounds like it’s miles away. The sword is nearly completely gold, now, almost becoming a shining beacon as Hamid looks down at it in horror. It’s so golden that Hamid wouldn’t be surprised if he opened the door and the dragon was just sitting there waiting for him. He steels himself. This fight was always going to happen, regardless of what else he tried. It was inevitable, in a way; maybe it knows that, too. Maybe all of this was planned, created by the Harlequins as they sat in their ivory tower and thought themselves above it all, above the people and the creatures and the power that brought them there in the first place. Maybe their plan all along was to bring Hamid here.

Hamid might just be playing right into their hand.

Hamid  _ doesn’t care.  _

He’ll make them regret it, whether or not it was planned. 

He takes a deep breath, and holds the sword at the ready, and opens the door, bracing for an attack. 

Nothing comes. The world outside him is silent and still, but Hamid doesn’t trust it, is waiting for something to appear. He takes a step forward, cautiously, and looks left to right, sword up. There’s still nothing, so Hamid takes another step, and another, and he’s getting closer to the tower with each step. Maybe - maybe he can make it. 

_ Oh, no _ , he hears and, whips around just in time to see a giant golden white creature fly between two more buildings. He can hear the flapping of it’s giant wings, the slight hum of the simulacra that he’s become used to. He braces, because there’s no way he can just run this time. It flies around in a circuit once, twice, three times as Hamid tracks it’s progress. The thing is  _ massive _ , bigger than he thought, and he glances down at the sword worriedly. This… this might be the end, for him, this battle. It - he doesn’t want it to be. He wants to live, wants to confront the Harlequins, wants to - wants to see the man trapped inside the sword again, he - he…

There’s no more time to muse on it - the dragon lands on the corner of the roof and roars, and, god, dragon  _ really _ is the best, closest way to describe it, but something is… wrong. It doesn’t - it’s misshapen, like it’s been built up out of a number of pieces that don’t all fit together, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist for Hamid to recognize the same gold veins pulsating across the things skin. His blood freezes in horror in his veins as the thing moves, undulating slowly, and he knows that it’s just the ruins of the simulacra, reformed into something monstrous. It roars again, and Hamid can see the different sets of eyes now, ever changing and moving and shifting and it’s almost dizzying, as the dragon stares at him. 

He can’t hear the voice at all now, hasn’t in a bit, but god, the sword is almost all gold, save for the single spot that Hamid’s hand clenches. 

Looks like this is it, then. If the sword is lost, then Hamid is too, and fuck all the Harlequins who made it come to this, but Hamid made a promise, and he’s going to see it through no matter what happens. The dragon hasn’t moved yet, just staring at him, and Hamid feels the adrenaline pump through him as they lock eyes, and then he lets out a roar of his own, echoing across the buildings and the rooftops, and he doesn’t  _ care _ what happens next.

It’s instinct, dodging the laser fire that comes his way. He feels - feels free, in a way he hasn’t ever before, moving so fluidly it’s almost like he can feel wings of his own sprout from his back. 

He can’t get close. The dragon is still screaming laser fire, an impenetrable barrier, but it has to run out sometime. Hamid waits, patient as he can be, crouched down behind a barrier that’s slowly eroding away. He doesn’t have that much time left; he jumps to the side the second that the laser fire breaks through the barrier, acting on an impulse he didn’t realize he had. The laser fire stops as well, and Hamid takes the first opportunity he’s going to get. 

He dashed out from behind the barrier and it almost feels like time stops, for a second, as he breathes, and then strikes at the dragon. The sword strikes true, opening a gash along its side, and the dragon roars. No blood spills from its side; instead, there’s a strange golden tide of what almost looks like particles coming out, evaporating right into the air as he watches it go. But he doesn’t have time to admire the way that the gold reflects in the slowly diminishing light, because the dragon’s mouth is trained on him again, and he needs to run. 

Laser fire explodes from its mouth and Hamid can’t hold back the scream that rips from his mouth as it catches on his upper arm, instantly cauterizing the wound into a nasty, ropey scar. He scrambles back behind a barrier before the laser fire can do any more damage, breathing heavily. There’s a tear through the jacket he’s wearing, and he leans his head back against the pillar he’s hid behind, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. It  _ throbs _ , whiting out his entire mind, and Hamid grits his teeth. The pain doesn’t fade at all, not like it seems to in all the stories, and it’s an ever present thing at the back of his head, refusing to shut up. 

But Hamid still fights. The laser fire ends again and he runs, cuts the thing as harshly as he’s able, and then ducks back behind cover, breathing heavily. His left arm is all but useless at this point, hanging limp at his side, and he realizes it’s just another scar to add to his quickly-growing collection. 

The laser fire ends, and he runs, and he  _ cuts _ , and the dragon roars in pain and anger and Hamid just dodges again, clutches at his chest as he narrowly avoids being hit once again.

He’s not  _ allowed _ to quit, not when so much is on the line. Not when the city is falling to pieces all around him and this is the only time He can barely get a hit in edgewise, waiting forever for the laser fire to run out before going out to strike the beast, and it looks like the hits aren’t even doing barely any damage. And Hamid is exhausted, waiting for his body to simply give up on him. He hits the dragon again and runs, and the familiar heat of the laser fire erupts behind him, just missing him, and he stumbles to a stop behind another pillar. He glances left and right, looking for anything that can help him, and his heart leaps into his throat. 

There’s - there are boxes here, filled with nails and screws. Tools that they haven’t needed since before Cloudbank was a thing, all loaded up in neat little boxes that Hamid can  _ use _ . 

If - if he can set off an explosion, it should be enough to kill the thing. Thousands of nails, ripping through its skin? Should be. Hopefully will be. God, Hamid needs it to be enough. He doesn’t have the energy to keep on fighting, not when - not when he can barely move. 

The sword vibrates in his hand, and Hamid can feel something -  _ someone _ \- brush against his mind, and he knows exactly what he needs to do next. He sends a quiet thank you back to Sasha, because he knows it was her, fighting through whatever infection this is, and moves.

The boxes all move with him, attracted to the sword, a power Hamid didn’t know he had. He tosses them around the edge of the pillars and waits as the laser fire stops. The boxes are perfectly set up, and Hamid stabs the sword into the ground as small pulses explode from it. It’s like time slows down again as he  _ throws _ himself backward, behind the pillars, and the second the pulses connect, they explode, ripping the boxes to pieces and turning them into a thousand lethal projectiles.

The dragon  _ screams, _ a sound that rends the air and crashes down on Hamid’s skull like a battering ram, and he claps his hands over his ears, but they’re still ringing when everything falls eerily silent a moment later. All of the noise sounds like it’s been sucked away, and Hamid peeks around the barrier slowly, ready to duck back behind it. No blast of laser fire comes, and Hamid crawls out slowly, glancing down at the sword once more. The gold is starting to bleed away, slowly. 

He looks over at the creature; it’s absolutely  _ devastated _ . The explosion Hamid set off had ripped a hole deep into what must be its chest, turning it into a cavernous mess. He can see something peeking out from just inside it, a small piece of gold and white that tempts him closer. The sword drags along behind him as Hamid steps forward, steps  _ inside _ the chest cavity that his explosion created, and there, hanging right in front of his eyes, golden and thrumming, is the thing’s heart. Hamid knows what he needs to do next. 

He stands in front of the beating heart of whatever this creature is, bloodied and broken, and screams wordlessly as he buries the sword into it. A strange golden liquid seeps from the place the sword cut through, dripping onto the floor below, and Hamid completes the incision, splitting the heart completely in two. There’s a flash of bright, golden light; Hamid shields his eyes a second too late as a pulse of force shoots out from the heart, causing him to stumble back as his vision whites out. 

He comes to on the ground, sword on top of his chest, and sits up slowly. The heart is completely destroyed, the only remains a puddle of gold on the floor. Hamid leaves the cavity and falls to his knees on the pavement, body shaking as the adrenaline bleeds away. Everything hurts, everything burns, and his arm is still hanging limp by his side; he digs around in the pockets of the coat and finds a small pack of healing pills (a new technology, slipped to the both of them by a local doctor, Azu), downing a couple, and the pain slowly ebbs away. He’ll have to save the rest - this isn’t even close to being over yet. 

_ Hngh,  _ he hears, and glances down at the sword laying on the floor below him. It’s a bright blue again, no hint of the golden gleam infecting it anymore.  _ Hamid? _ Hamid nods and picks it up, pressing his forehead to the hilt. The metal is cold against his skin, and he can hear the quiet rumble of contentment coming from it. 

_ You saved me,  _ he says, and Hamid just runs his hand down the blade of the sword, a comfort he isn’t sure how to provide anymore.  _ Thank you _ . 

Hamid would do anything for him. He knows that. 

_ I don’t know what it was, it - it’s called the Spine, it… it takes the pieces of simulacra and builds them up, until it takes on a mind of its own and becomes… that,  _ he explains.  _ The sword is at least a part of their tech, it must be affected when the Spine gets too close. Drags me down with it.  _

Well. If they find another one, if the simulacra merge and grow and change again, Hamid will kill it again, if it means that the person he loves is safe and himself, not losing himself to the sword. 

But for now… he needs to confront the Harlequins. Ask just what the hell they did to the city, what they were even thinking in the first place. Why they used him as an example. Why they...

Hamid holds the sword tight, and advances.


	5. smoke signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i hope you all enjoy!! only two chapters left!! (full disclosure the next one is mostly written and it is. hmm. long.)

_ This is the emptiest the concourse has ever been, huh?  _ he hears, and nods. The concourse is the closest to the top of the tower that the public is allowed to get, unless you’re one of the lucky people who’s been granted a meeting with the higher-ranking members. It’s always bustling; Hamid never spent much time here himself, not unless he was working a gig, but it doubled as a shopping centre. Not like there’s much going on now, though. All the shops are shuttered and dark, and Hamid can’t even sense a single person around. 

There’s no simulacra around either, which is an unlooked-for blessing or a warning, Hamid really isn’t sure which. He isn’t going to complain, though, not when he’s still trying to recover as best he can from the battle with the Spine. His arm doesn’t hurt anymore, not really, not behind a dull throbbing ache, but it is still stiff. 

There’s another terminal off to the side, blinking red as opposed to their usual blue, and Hamid walks over curiously, head tilting to the side. It might be another effect of the simulacra, might be something going on with the tech, or it might be nothing at all.

Hamid isn’t stupid.

The screen has a mail icon nearly filling up the whole space, and Hamid touches it. It flies away, up into the corner, and then familiar text fills the screen. 

**> >PRIVATE MESSAGE RECEIVED. PLAY?**

**Y.**

He doesn’t know how someone is sending a message, but it can’t be to anyone but him, not when the entire city is still and silent apart from himself and the sword he carries. The speaker on the old terminal crackles to life, a tinny sound nearly distorting the audio as a woman’s voice comes out of it. i

**“** **_Hello, Hamid. You might recognize me as Guy Fawkes, although we’ve never been properly introduced. I see that you’re getting ever closer to the top of the tower. I’d let you in, be all hospitable and that rot, but I’m sorry to say that we’ve had to lock ourselves in for our own safety. You understand, yes?”_ **

It pauses for a minute while Hamid shakes with rage, fingers clenching around the hilt of the sword. While these…  _ things _ ran rabid across the city, the Harlequins locked themselves up in their tower above it all, too cowardly to face the consequences of what they created.  _ Fine, then _ , Hamid thinks. He’ll just have to force them to face it. Every security system has an off switch, after all. One of the perks of the digital age, he supposes. He just has to find it. 

**_“Good luck, Hamid. I understand you’re resourceful. I have to go, now - Kafka is calling.”_ **

The message on the screen blinks a bright red as a cursor appears near the bottom.

**See you soon. -H**

_ Of course they locked themselves up in their great ivory tower,  _ the voice chimes in, disgusted.  _ Never could take responsibility. Could only create scapegoats.  _

Hamid agrees, but he doesn’t stop.  _ Maybe this will all work out after all. Maybe they’ll give you your voice back. Maybe they’ll give  _ **_me_ ** _ my body back. Wouldn’t that be nice? A quick apology for putting us through this shite.  _

It would be nice. Hamid doesn’t really think that’s what’s going to happen, and based on the bitterness clouding every word, neither does his love. But he can’t dwell on that, not now, can’t give in to the hopelessness before he reaches the top. Not if he actually wants to continue. Otherwise, he’d just curl into a ball and… and stop. Let the simulacra take him, maybe. 

But. And there’s always a  _ but. _ The Harlequins need to pay. And Hamid isn’t going to let them get away with it, not when he’s the only one left who can hold them to anything. 

He’s getting closer to the top now. It won’t be long before he makes it to the Harlequins main headquarters, where Guy and Kafka are stashed away, waiting out the rest of the apocalypse as the world burns around them. He wonders if he’s going to have to fight them. He doesn’t really care, if he does. It hasn’t been long, but he’s stronger now,  _ harder _ . And he’s angry. They nearly killed what he loved, tried to kill him, stole his voice, and set an army of rampaging robots upon the city. They have to face the consequences, somehow. 

… Grizzop would have called it justice. Hamid calls it vengeance, and he isn’t sure if either of them are that incorrect about it. He goes up another staircase, stewing.

_ Hey, _ he hears, and draws up short.  _ Another terminal. These are getting more common, huh?  _ He’s right about that, at least. There’s another one on this level, with the same blinking red screen as there was on the other terminal. He goes toward it, cautious again, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it’s just another private message. He taps the screen. 

**> >WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGES, NOTHING DOES. **

**> >PRIVATE MESSAGE RECEIVED. PLAY?**




**> >PLAYING: “** **_We thought what we were doing was going to change the world. It’s what we were all about, as you know. Building a better world for today. For the future we want to have. But people weren’t ready for it, we thought. We needed to convince them that this new technology - the Transistor, the simulacra, all of it - would make their lives better._ **

**_People didn’t want to listen, of course. But we were the Harlequins. We decided to do what we wanted. It was supposed to make the city better, more efficient, but the technology got out of our hands._ **

**_We only ever wanted to help.”_ **

_ No, you didn’t, _ Hamid hears, a response to someone who’s no longer listening.  _ You wanted to keep the power. Build a new system that kept you at the top. It was just as selfish as anything you lot did.  _

He’s right. This move wouldn’t have done anything but push the Harlequins higher above the rest of them, the only ones who knew how to control the technology. It might have helped the city, sure, but it would have kept all of them in power for as long as they wanted. Control the technology, control the city. 

Hamid doesn’t feel that bad for them, really. They’re the ones who caused all this. The ones who broke the city. He keeps walking, heading up another set of stairs. The air almost feels like it’s starting to thin as he walks into a gondola, waiting for it to slowly rise to the next level. He can’t be far off now. Soon, he’ll be forcing all of the Harlequins to pay for their crimes, one way or another.

The gondola takes a while to rise, as always. It shakes a bit, not enough to be worrisome, but enough that Hamid has a tighter grip on the sword. The grates in front open and Hamid steps out, glancing around the plaza. It’s just as deserted as everywhere else, and there are no simulacra in sight. Hamid isn’t quite sure how he feels about that; enemies close, and all that. He sees something blink out of the corner of his eyes and turns, spotting another terminal sitting nestled in between a few pillars just off to the side. 

_ Another terminal? Have these been placed here, or are they just… appearing for you?  _ Hamid shakes his head; he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t like it. He heads over to it anyway, because he needs to know what it says, if it’s another message from Guy, but it’s an article, with Wilde’s familiar face on the corner of the screen. Another one of his pieces, then, but Hamid’s blood runs cold when he sees the headline. 

**HARLEQUINS, EXPOSED: Local leader tells all.**

**Late this evening, local Harlequin leader Guy Fawkes sent a positively damning recording to yours truly. I think everyone still out there needs to hear this.**

**> >PLAY MESSAGE? **

**Y**

**> >PLAYING: “** **_All of this is the fault of the Harlequins. Myself and my colleagues - Liliana Beecost, Franz Kafka, Barrett Rackett, and Le Gourmand - created the technology that you can see slowly changing the city. We thought it would change the world, and we were wrong. We are also the group that attempted to kill local star, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, at the culmination of one of his shows. It was a mistake. All of this was a mistake. But there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. Get out of the city if you can, because this is out of everyone’s hands now.”_ **

**Well. Good luck. This is one journalist, signing off.**

Hamid’s heart isn’t beating. 

**Post a comment?**

He does, this time.

**What the hell did you do? -H**

_ They… confessed, _ he hears, voice full of shock. Hamid can relate.  _ I - why would they confess? There’s no one out there left to hear it. And why is Guy the only one talking? Something isn’t right.  _

Hamid doesn’t like any of this. The Harlequins aren’t known for dealing with consequences, for admitting they're wrong. Hell, a couple of years ago they were indirectly responsible for the death of one of the city’s most well-known politicians, Bolla Smok, and they refused to admit that they had anything to do with it, even after all evidence indicated that they did. This is an unprecedented move from them, and Hamid has to wonder what prompted it. It might just be because there’s no one left in the city, really, not with the simulacra slowly taking over, but also… well. Hamid’s worried that there’s another reason why the Harlequins don’t care about admitting their fault, in this case. He makes it up another staircase, and pauses, evaluating the plaza in front of him. 

_ We made it to the tower, _ he hears, and nods, staring up at the black obelisk rising up in front of him.  _ Just need to walk through the golden gates _ . 

Hamid steps forward, tugging ineffectually at the door. It doesn’t budge, not even slightly, no matter how hard he pulls. The doors are a pure black, almost blending into the wall. They would, if not for the ornate golden designs on them. But there’s no windows or anything, nothing, and Hamid can’t see past them. 

_ Well, shite, _ the voice says, almost conversational.  _ Guess we’re not getting in the old-fashioned way.  _ Hamid glances down at the sword - it’s hefty enough, strong enough, and he holds it aloft for a moment, considering.  _ Hamid. Don’t you dare.  _

Hamid shrugs, but points the sword down again. He doesn’t know if it would have broken through the door anyway, but it’s probably better not to make an attempt. 

He glances around, trying to find another way up. There’s a lift off to the left, and another to the right. Two gondolas just begging to be used, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots, not when there’s two blinking red ones on each side of the door.

_ There must be two security terminals that you’ll need to activate, if it got locked down,  _ he explains.  _ I think - yeah, Sasha should be able to help with that. You’ll be able to use the sword. So. Right or left?  _ he asks, and Hamid stares at them both, before setting off to the left. The gondola is still working - Hamid really doesn’t know why he’s surprised about the power still being on, anymore. It’s not like the city properly shut down, not really. Still. The gondola rides smoothly, and Hamid clenches his fist around the hilt tightly, getting ready for a potential fight as the gondola comes to a stop. 

There’s nothing there, just stacks upon stacks of boxes, stretching as far back as the eye can see. 

_ This must be their archives. Storage and data on hundreds of thousands of Cloudbank citizens, stretching back throughout decades. No wonder the Harlequins knew exactly who to lean on when they needed something done; they had all the dirt on everyone right here. Gods. _

This is why no one ever said no to them, Hamid realizes. Control the information, control the population, control the power. Everyone they used was terrified of them, waiting for their deepest, darkest secrets to get brought into the light. Shite. 

Not like it matters now, anyway. 

Hamid keeps walking through the boxes. It’s eerily silent, and getting darker the deeper he gets into the building. The sword glows, a bit brighter, and he taps the hilt with two fingers, a nonverbal thank you. 

Something else is flowing, in the corner of his vision, and he looks over, tilting his head. It’s another terminal - just an access point, not the security terminal he was looking for, but the oh-so-familiar blinking screen is showing another incoming message. Nothing for it, he supposes, and heads over, tapping the screen.

**> >PRIVATE MESSAGE RECEIVED. PLAY?**




**> >PLAYING: “** **_We didn’t know what would happen. I can promise you that. We thought that with Liliana’s tech, everything would do perfectly, but we were wrong. I can only apologize for what we’ve done to the city… to you. But you’re holding the only weapon that can beat it. The only thing that has a sliver of hope to defeat the simulacra is you, Hamid. You and the Transistor. So I will wish you good luck, again. Maybe we’ll be able to speak one day, if we both make it to the Country._ **

**_Goodbye.”_ **

**Post a comment?**

**If this is the only thing that can stop them, why did you attack me with it? -H**

It’s not the only thing he still doesn’t understand, but it’s the one he cares most about now. If this was all - all  _ nothing _ , then why did they come after him? What was so special about him that they tried to kill him with the sword? How would he have helped anything? 

It’s all circles within circles, trying to figure out their motivations and strategies. He - he wasn’t a  _ nobody _ , but he’d never even had contact with the Harlequins before. Why had he been the target? It just… doesn’t make sense. 

_ There’s the security terminal, _ he hears, and looks up, spotting the large, chrome machine sitting atop a raised pedestal.  _ Just need to insert the sword into the slot. _

Hamid walks up to it and does a quick circle around the machine, finally finding the slot for the sword. He inserts it, up to the hilt, and turns it once, like a key in the ignition. The terminal boots up and turns on with a low whine, screen slowly filling up. Numbers, ones and zeroes, pass by, too quickly for Hamid to track, and they move faster and faster until they’re a blur, until it hurts Hamid’s eyes to even try and look. They halt, sudden, and then the terminal lights up, the same shade of blue as the sword. 

_ Job done _ , he hears, and reaches out to pull the sword out. It comes easily, and then he’s leaving, ignoring the thousands of reams of user data behind.

The gondola ride down is quiet, and Hamid relaxes a bit, staring out as the world slowly shifts around them. For once, the sword doesn’t say anything, and he closes his eyes. He’ll have to go find the other security terminal next, and hope that there aren’t any simulacra waiting for him when he gets there. There’s a pit in his stomach that’s telling him to expect it, an instinct he’s learned to trust. 

The gondola stops and Hamid opens the grate in front of him, stretching his shoulders slightly. The plaza is still deserted, but there’s a new door that he can see, in the direction he came from.

_ That wasn’t there before, was it?  _ he hears, and shakes his head.  _ Well. Wanna check it out? _

Hamid heads over cautiously, and the sword starts to vibrate in his hands. He can hear the sounds of soft music and waves crashing on a shore; it must be another backdoor. An escape from the city, courtesy of Liliana, even if she hadn’t known she was giving it to them yet. 

_ Fancy a vacation? _ he hears, and nods. God, what he  _ wouldn’t _ give for a vacation right now. A vacation, a break, no more fighting, no more hurting… Hamid would pay anything. But he can’t, and this is the only chance he has, so he steps through the door, and everything immediately feels at peace. The beach is just as he left it, a simulation in a world that he only has access to because Liliana’s trace is in his sword. The hammock is still there, swaying gently in the wind, and Hamid walks over to the small record player in the center of the island, humming along as it clicks on and one of his favorite songs begins to play. He goes over to the hammock and lays down, carefully, resting the sword against one of the metal posts. He lets his arm drape off the side, fingers trailing through the water below, and it feels like static against his hand. 

_ What do you think will happen next?  _ he hears, and shrugs. He’s sure that the Harlequins are going to have something to say to him, regardless.  _ We’re going to have to fight them, you know.  _

Yeah, Hamid really isn’t looking forward to it. But he’s got a sword, and a lot of pent-up anger broiling below his chest. He thinks he’ll be fine.

_ Please, just… be careful, okay?  _ he asks, and Hamid can’t nod, not in good faith. He settles for giving the sword an incredulous look.  _ Yeah, yeah, I know, murderous robots, we’ve been over this, I just… I don’t want to lose you. _ Hamid bites his lip and nods, resting his other hand against the blade of the sword. 

_ I love you, you know that? _ he hears, an almost desperate whisper, and Hamid turns to look at the sword properly. He doesn’t even know how this works, doesn’t know how he can see Hamid,  _ what _ he can see, but he  _ knows _ that his eyes are full of all the love he feels when he looks at the sword, and hopes that his love can see it as well.  _ Yeah, I - yeah.  _

Hamid leans back in the hammock, chest sore all of a sudden. It’s never been  _ easy _ , this, but he hasn’t had another option, and he… he wants to be held again. Wants to be able to curl up in strong arms, to kiss him, to lay together under the stars, laughing as he makes up stories to all the constellations. But he can’t. Not until the Harlequins are dealt with, not until he’s figured out how to get his love’s body back. 

_ … We should go, _ he says, quiet, and Hamid nods, standing up and stretching. He pulls the sword up and brushes some sand away from the blade. He needn’t have bothered; they blow away like little pieces of dust, almost like they were never there in the first place. 

God. Liliana may have gone a bit power-mad toward the end there, but she had a handle on tech unlike anything Hamid had ever seen. He slings the sword over his shoulder and breathes in once, twice, before heading over to the door, so out of place, and pushes it open. 

_ Shite, get down _ , he hears, and Hamid instinctively ducks behind a few crates that conveniently resting right near him.  _ Simulacra are working on the door.  _

He peers up over the crates and frowns; there aren’t many there, but there’s enough to be a problem. All of them are relentlessly shooting at the door, which isn’t even close to budging. He doesn’t know if he can make it past them, not when it seems like they’ve got snapshots working for them, cameras scanning the street around them. Shite. Maybe he can - if he times it right, he can get a surprise round in on all of them, give himself the upper hand.

_ Hamid. I don’t think I like what you’re thinking, _ he says, voice full of reproach, and yeah, he’s always been good at reading Hamid’s thoughts, even if he wasn’t  _ really _ telepathic.  _ This is - this is more than you’ve fought before. Think about this.  _

Hamid doesn’t - well, he  _ does, _ but not for long, and then he shoots a rakish smile at the sword (he doesn’t  _ care  _ how it works) and leaps out from behind the crates, quiet as ever. He remembers what Sasha told him about being sneaky, and follows her advice to a T. They don’t even see him coming before he’s on them, stabbing one of the bots effortlessly in the back. 

It shrieks but powers down instantly, and it’s still not a fair fight but it’s  _ getting there _ , and Hamid’s sword flashes blue in the grey of the city light as he cuts through another one before it can get its own shot off on him. He doesn’t manage to get in a third attack, and is forced to retreat, spinning to the side as he dodges an onslaught of laser fire.

_ I told you this wasn’t a good idea!  _ he hears, and only slightly rolls his eyes. He’ll be  _ fine.  _

He hefts the sword in his hand as the laser fire halts and darts forward, stabbing one of the simulacra through the chest. A beam hits him in the arm and he bites back a curse as he uses the simulacra on the end of his sword as a shield. Laser fire peppers the front of it, and it becomes nothing more than a lump of scrap metal as he kicks the remaining piece of it off the end of his sword. 

He ducks into a small nook and sighs in relief as another barrage of lasers hit the stone where he was just standing, and then he spins the sword around, ducking around the corner and stabbing it against the ground, knocking the small pulse that was created forward. He cowers back into the nook and counts under his breath,  _ one, two, three _ , and then the explosion triggers, a blast outwards, and then everything falls silent, apart from the sounds of metal falling to the floor. Hamid’s sure he saw a metal pincer fly by him, and so he peeks back around the wall. Every simulacra is in complete pieces around him, just laying there in a complete devastation. He swings the sword over his shoulder and surveys the damage. He can’t help the smug smile he directs at the sword.  _ Yeah, yeah,  _ he hears, but it’s more fond than anything else.  _ I admit it, you made it work. You’re good like that.  _ The smile becomes more genuine, now, and Hamid taps the sword gently, three short beats. 

_ Love you too. To the right?  _ he asks, and Hamid nods, taking a deep breath. He’s so close, now. So close to being able to confront the people who took everything away from him. 

The gondola on this side is much the same, a slow and quiet ride up a floor. The grates open when it gets to the top, and Hamid steps through cautiously. He’s not really expecting a firefight, not here, but anything can happen. The door slides open and up, and Hamid sees a dark hallway ahead of him. He tighten his grip on the sword and steps in. The moment he passes the threshold, lights flicker on, and he covers his eyes. The moment passes, and he peeks out from behind his fingers. There are tools and machines on each side of the corridor, cordoned off by a single rope running the length of it. They all look broken, defunct; some of the tech Hamid recognizes from old movies and magazines, some of it he can see are broken terminals. Some of it he can’t recognize at all. 

_ This must be their maintenance corridor,  _ he hears, and Hamid nods.  _ Hey. There’s a working terminal up there. Think it’s a message?  _ Hamid isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised. He walks over to it and, sure enough, it’s blinking with the same message icon that all the others have had.

It’s so tempting to leave. To ignore what Guy Fawkes has to say, to ignore her attempts to rationalize what they’ve done. She wants to be heard, clearly, and Hamid could just walk away, let her words sit there forever, unknown. But he’s too curious. Too invested in what actually happened.

He presses the screen. 

**> >PRIVATE MESSAGE RECEIVED. PLAY?**

**Y.**

**> >PLAYING. ** **_“It was Liliana who called the shots, you know. Not with everything - Barrett and Kafka had all the power. Even I was on a short leash, as high up as my status was. But for the… unlucky attack against you, that was her personal request. We needed her research, you understand. It was so closely tied to what we’d been working on that ignoring it would have been foolish on our part. We recruited her, offered her riches beyond her wildest dreams, offered her power, offered her a chance to change the world at our side… she wouldn’t accept it, not until we finally agreed to take you out.”_ **

The recording pauses for a minute as Hamid shakes, violently. His stomach is rolling, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

**_“It was nothing personal. Really. You were just an obstacle. And we needed Liliana. Having some… collateral damage was a price we were willing to pay. And you, well. We needed to send a message with the Transistor you’re currently carrying. You would have been the perfect martyr for the cause, but your man got in our way._ **

Hamid glances down at the sword, and can feel it vibrating.  _ Yeah,  _ he hears.  _ I’d do it again, too. Pleased to ruin your plans. _

**_“There’s nothing that can be done for it now. The simulacra is out of control, and we can’t stop it anymore. I meant it when I wished you good luck, Hamid. But it’s time for me to join Kafka, now.”_ **

The recording clicks off, and another screen pops up, cursor blinking.

**> >Post a comment? **

**Is this true?**

_ She could be lying to protect herself. _

Hamid deletes the first message.  **Then why confess?**

_ Got a point. Everyone in the city is either dead or gone, anyway, so why would it matter?  _

**I don’t like this.**

_ Don’t see why you would. _

**Yeah. Are you okay?**

_ Doing as well as I can, love. Gonna have to be enough for now. _

**I love you.**

_ You too. Now go get these bastards. _

The cursor blinks up at Hamid as he erases the final line. He isn’t sure what he wants to say,  _ if _ there’s anything he wants to say. In the end, he leaves the cursor there, blinking for eternity. 

The security terminal is just up ahead. The corridor was never that long, anyway, and Hamid steps up onto the small platform there. It’s the same as before; the sword enters the slot, Hamid turns it like a key, and after some techy stuff he doesn’t really understand, the terminal lights up a bright blue. Hamid pulls the sword out and runs a hand through his hair.

_ Door should be open now,  _ he hears.

It doesn’t take him long to get back down to the main plaza. The gondola seems to be moving slower, but Hamid is equally as sure that it’s just his anxiety kicking in. They get back down and Hamid steps off the lift, and sure enough, both sides of the doors blocking off the entrance to the tower are lit with green. 

He breathes in deep, steeling himself.

_ You know,  _ he starts, and Hamid looks down at the sword. _ I know you want them to pay for this. I get it. You should. But after this… we seriously need to think about getting out of town. Regardless of what you learn up there. It’s - the city is falling down around us, Hamid. _

Hamid knows. The simulacra have enough power to repaint an entire skyline, to change the very foundations of the city. There won’t be space for them anymore, them or anyone else who might be unlucky enough to still be alive and stuck there.

_ Hamid. I’m serious. After this, skip town. Save yourself. You aren’t going to be able to change anything, alright? Just… please. For me. _ Hamid doesn’t respond. He wants to be able to leave, wants to put this entire mess behind him, wants to get out of the city before the simulacra fully has their way with it. But he doesn’t know if this is going to be the end, yet. He hopes it is… begs, prays,  _ hopes  _ it is, that it’ll have a neat ending and he can leave. But with how rapidly things are shifting, changing, well… Hamid doesn’t really know anymore.  _ Please, Hamid. _

He’ll try. It’s the best he can do. 

Hamid opens the door, and steps through.

The room is dark, as he steps in, and Hamid feels along the wall to his left, hoping that there’s a light switch somewhere; his fingers finally find a button and he presses down as light fills the room. 

_ Oh my god, _ he hears, and Hamid claps his hand over his mouth, turning away from the scene. It’s not as much of a surprise to him as he wishes it was, three bodies lying sprawled in the middle of the room. It’s a grisly scene, and Hamid can’t help retching a bit before he steels himself and turns back. He walks toward one of the corpses, moving slowly, because he really doesn’t want to, but he needs to. 

_ Hello, Guy Fawkes. _

She looks like shit, Hamid realizes, and it’s not just the burn covering half her face. Her arms aren't… arms, anymore, not really. They’re metal, chrome-plated and formerly must have been nasty looking, broken knives littering the ground around her that must have come off of the arms. Hamid doesn’t look much closer, and it’s easy enough to identify the other two bodies as Le Gourmand and Kafka. They’ve each got a dark scar from a laser gun in the middle of their chest, no longer smoking, and based on how close the gun in question is to Guy’s hand, Hamid can easily figure out what the hell’s happened. 

He feels sick to his stomach, and wraps his arms around himself, pulling the coat tighter. This… no one deserved this. And, god, it made all the messages Guy sent make so much more sense. It’s always easier to take accountability when you know you aren’t going to be around to deal with the consequences. He tries not to look closely at the bodies, but the room is small and, well, there’s three of them. Wait - 

_ Barrett isn't here,  _ the voice says darkly, and Hamid glances around. There’s no sign of him, nothing at all, no evidence that this was his main place of business for decades.  _ Shit _ . 

Shit just about covers it, yeah. It means one of the Harlequins is still at large, somewhere, if Barrett hasn’t also met his end at the hands of the simulacrum. Something dark coils in Hamid’s chest; he doesn’t think Barrett would go down that easy. He remembers how Sasha used to talk about him, after all. Not much spooked her, ever; she was a brilliant bodyguard, could stare down would-be bullies and drunks and grumps into submission, but one mention of Barrett had her eyes wide open and  _ scared _ . Hamid never got the full story - god knows  _ he’s  _ not the one that Sasha was closest to - but he knows that if something about Barrett was enough to scare her, he should be very,  _ very _ worried. 

_ We’ll figure it out,  _ he hears, a soothing presence, and nods.  _ Look around a bit, see if there are any clues they left behind.  _ Hamid can do that, at least, easy. There’s not much that’s helpful in the room, even with how crowded it is. The chalkboard is full of what seems to be calculations, equations… nothing Hamid can understand, but they get shakier as they go on, turning rapidly into scribbles that he can barely even read. 

There’s a speaker in the corner, and Hamid moves toward it cautiously. The screen it’s hooked up to is blinking, slowly, and Hamid reaches out and presses the play button. The sound that comes out is discordant,  _ wrong _ , but it stabilizes almost instantly, and then he can hear the tinny recordings of days long past. 

**_“Researcher’s note: We’ve discovered a new kind of technology, one that will allow us to change the world, shape it into what we want it to be. There’s still a lot of work to be done to make the technology available on a mass scale, and even to make it viable in the first place, but I’m sure that Guy will come through as she always does. This will be a first for the entire - “_ **

Static. Nothing but static, as the words cut off, just before another recording starts. 

**_“ - don’t know what Guy could mean with her warnings. This technology is going to save the world, not end it. It’s a brush, the city a canvas, and we’ll be in charge of all of it now. We’ll be able to build the city in our vision. Im - Imagine the terminals, how the mass city vote can change the weather? This is that, on a wider scale. Which is why we need to contact Ms. Beecost, she -“_ **

The audio scrambles again, and Hamid sits down in front of the speaker, resting his chin on his knees.

**_“ - will be called the Transistor. It will be the central point. Kafka said he wanted something punchy, and I think that’ll do well enough. With the help of Ms. Beecost, we should be good to go for a public press conference in - “_ **

The speaker sounds like it’s skipping, now, and then the static rushes in again, and Hamid can barely make out the words. 

**_“ - mistake, we - Transistor - it was - we don’t control them, we - barricade the door, now! - let this happen, we - our fault, but no one can - this - how could you even - I suppose we will need - this is the end.”_ **

Hamid’s risen to his knees as the audio cuts out again, hands clenched in fists on his thighs as he stares at the speaker. This - this must have been from last night, there’s simply no way that they had any more warning that that. The tape is still running, though; there’s more, and sure enough, the ever-familiar voice of Guy Fawkes comes through the speakers one last time. 

**_“Losing the sword was the death knell for the city, you know. It hadn’t been the plan. Liliana wanted us to assassinate some singer, someone none of us even knew. You, Hamid. I don’t think she knew what would happen when she suggested we use the sword. A trial run, she had said. To prove it’s capabilities. It was supposed to absorb your Trace. You were supposed to become one with something greater than yourself. Tell me, Hamid. What if everyone who ever died never had to leave us? What if they could continue to have their say, continue to have an input on the way the world is run? Doesn’t that sound like paradise?”_ **

_ That sounds like a nightmare _ , the voice says, horrified, and Hamid agrees. Never being able to leave, never being able to  _ rest…  _ even in death? It’s a sentence worse than death. 

**_“You were supposed to lead the way. But then the attack failed, and we lost the Transistor to you. And in so doing, lost our control over the simulacra. It started to reign havoc on the city, and we couldn’t do anything to stop it. The Transistor is the only thing that can control them, can make them work for you. Without its influence, the city became a hellscape, an imperfect being that the simulacra had to recreate in its own image._ **

**_We had lost. Le Gourmand couldn’t live with it, and neither could Kafka. I’ll be joining them, soon, but I felt as though you deserved to know this, at least:_ **

**_Barrett has gone to Fairview. If you still care about this city, he has something of a kill switch there. He might be the only hope the city has left. Him and, well… you. Goodbye, Hamid, forever this time. I do hope you win, but I’m afraid that the city is far past the point of saving. I’ll see you in the Country, someday.”_ **

The speaker screen goes black and Hamid sits there, numb. 

_ We have to find Barrett,  _ he says, determined, and Hamid nods. It shouldn’t be hard. The sword, it… it almost feels like it’s being pulled toward Fairview, pulled toward Barrett. And if the sword is the only thing standing in the way of the robots completely taking over the city, well… Hamid’s sure that Barrett is going to want it.

There’s a container on the other side of the room, and there’s something - a hundred somethings - scrambling inside it, pressing against the glass almost desperately as Hamid walks closer to it. 

_ Try the sword _ , the voice suggests, and Hamid does. He stops right in front of the container and points the sword to the left; everything in the container presses against the left side. The same happens when he points the sword to the right, to the sky, to the floor… and Hamid feels a smile creep across his face. They can use this, can turn the technology back on the Harlequins, can find Barrett, can - Hamid doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t let himself hope, not yet. 

So he doesn’t. He swings the sword in a wide arc around and crashes into the container. Glass flies in every direction, some cutting him on the face, but the robots that had been stuck in the container all explode out of the container and halt, buzzing, in front of him. 

They float as one out the window and sit there, waiting. Hamid looks out the broken window, over the city slowly eating itself. It’s the sword. The sword is the key, has always been the key, and now Hamid has it. Barrett should be scared of  _ him _ , now, not the other way around. 

He takes a deep breath and a running start, and then he leaps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for like five minutes i was quite literally so tempted to make the final note from the harlequins the dear sister message from the snl skit


	6. we all become one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am tired,, 
> 
> anyways please enjoy this long chapter ily all and i’m!!! working on the next chapter!!! it’s currently idk maybe half written at 4k??? this is gonna be another long boy

_ Shite, shite,  _ **_shite,_ ** Hamid hears, and,  _ yeah _ , that’s a pretty accurate summation of the situation he’s found himself in. Another barrage of laser fire slams into the wall he’s crouched behind, and he presses himself harder against it, clutching the sword in his hand and breathing heavily. Shit. 

The strange simulacra cloud had carried them back down to the main plaza, which Hamid is thankful for, but he would have appreciated a warning about the dozen hostile simulacra waiting for them to appear. 

It’s a harder fight than he’d been expecting; the simulacra seem to be getting more powerful with each battle, more strong, and Hamid is already stumbling around from a number of cuts on his arms and legs from laser fire he couldn’t dodge. He breathes heavily as he drags the sword through another robot, covering his face as it explodes into a shower of metal parts. The sword tip hits the ground hard as he tries not to collapse, and then he’s on his knees, thankfully behind a barricade.

_ Hamid! _ the voice says, worry thrumming through his name, and Hamid gasps for air, both of his hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword. He uses it to push himself up, legs shaking, and sees that there’s only one simulacra still standing in the square. Summoning a well of energy from… somewhere, he lets out a tired, frustrated scream, one of the only sounds he can make, and charges it. He’s lucky, catches it off guard, and stabs straight through its chest. It lets out a horrible,  _ grinding _ scream, and then the light in its eyes flickers and dies as Hamid falls. 

He rolls into his back, hand still clutching the sword, and runs his free hand through his hair, trying to catch his breath. 

_ Hamid. You have to stand up. Or sit up, at least. You won’t be able to breathe if you’re lying down. _ And who is Hamid not to listen to him? He staggers onto his knees and leans back against a chrome-plated wall, head tipped back against the cold metal as he presses a hand against his chest.

It takes longer than he wants for his breathing to stabilize again, but he doesn’t have time to recover. Everything hurts, and his legs are so tired, arms aching from swinging a heffing great sword around. He doesn’t get the luxury of relaxation, not anymore. He soldiers on instead, wiping a speck of blood from the corner of his mouth. 

_ Hey, hey -  _ the voice says, soft and comforting.  _ Take it easy. You took a lot of hits back there. Are you okay? _ Hamid just gives the sword an incredulous look, and then hears a sigh.  _ Yeah, er - that was a stupid question, I know, I guess I just - yeah. Please, just… please be careful. I don’t want to lose you.  _

Hamid nods. He knows. He just… doesn’t really get to make these decisions anymore. If he dies, he dies in a blaze of glory - then again, is it really glory when there’s no one left alive who remembers you? No one left to tell your story? 

He. He can’t think about that. Not now. There’s too much else going on, too much he needs to focus on, so he keeps walking, sword dragging along the ground. Each step takes him closer to the outskirts of town, closer to the promenade, closer to  _ Barrett _ . Closer to the only person who might have a single solitary chance in hell of… stopping all this.

Hamid doesn’t think it can be reversed, not anymore. It’s - he used to be an optimist, really. He was the positive one; his love was more of a realist. Maybe he was right all along; Hamid hasn’t been able to find a single positive since the night a sword took his love away from him, since the night the sword somehow gave him  _ back _ , albeit in a unique way. 

Hope isn’t going to change anything. Not anymore. And Hamid doesn’t have anything  _ left  _ to be disappointed in. 

He keeps walking. It’s getting brighter, which he thinks he should maybe be worried about. This part of the city has always been dingy and dull, a bit of a slum compared to the bright billboards and celebrities hobnobbing only a few blocks uptown. This is the part of the city that Hamid strayed away from. Doesn’t really have a choice anymore. 

He hears a strange mechanical sound, and turns. There’s another terminal down the alleyway, blinking with an unread alert, and Hamid creeps down it, wondering if Guy somehow found a way to send him a message from the grave. As he gets closer, he realizes that it’s not from Guy at all - it’s a news article, waiting to be read. And the name on the byline is more familiar that Hamid expected it to be. 

_ Wilde’s  _ **_still_ ** _ out there? _ he hears, and shrugs. If anyone was going to survive this, it was going to be Wilde, but Hamid isn’t sure how much time the man has left. He checks the date on the alert, and it’s hours ago. There’s no telling where Wilde is now, if he’s even still alive. 

He presses the message and the article pooh’s up, headline screaming in large black letters ‘ **_LOCAL STAR MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD!’_ **

Hamid’s heart sinks into his stomach as he sees a picture of himself on the news article. 

**“It is with a heavy heart that we mourn the passing of local legend Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan. There had been many rumors of the singer surviving the ill-fated assassination attempt, but without any contact from him …”** The article continues on; Hamid skims most of it, but there’s no new information about the simulacra or anything helpful. 

**Post a comment?** it prompts, and Hamid immediately starts typing.

**What happened to everyone?**

_ I have no idea. Why isn’t Wilde talking about it, anymore? _

Hamid deletes the initial message and starts typing again, careful not to press send.

**Maybe he got captured.**

_ Wilde? No, I don’t think so. And I don’t think the simulacra are interested in keeping people alive when they find them.  _

**Why didn’t anyone listen to the warnings? We - they could have escaped, they could have…**

_ I don’t know, Hamid. We can just keep moving forward and see what Barrett knows, yeah? _

**…**

**Yeah.**

_ I love you.  _

**You’re everything I have left.** Hamid types, and then rethinks it, deleting the message. 

**I love you so much.** He hates how it feels like a goodbye, hates the finality in it, but he can’t  _ say _ it anymore, so typing is the next best option.

_ Leave a final message, yeah?  _

Hamid nods. 

**I’m still here. -H**

It’s as good a sign off as he deserves. He doesn’t even know if there’s anyone still here, anyone still listening. He doesn’t really have the time to care. 

_ We need to get back to the bike. That’ll get us out to Fairview, and then we can find Barrett, figure out his plan to save the city, and then get the hell out of here while we still can.  _ Hamid nods. It’s the only plan they’ve got, the only half-chance of actually doing something. 

He leaves the terminal behind and finds another gondola, this time going down to the city’s main floor. They’ll be able to hopefully reach the promenade from there, unless the city’s been changed again. Hamid realizes he has no clue what to expect, and holds the sword a little tighter as the grilles open. He steps forward, cautions, and pulls to a complete stop, glancing around himself. 

_ What… _ he hears, voice trailing off as a slowly-dawning horror grows in Hamid’s mind. 

It’s  _ bad. _ It’s bad, it’s over, it’s so much worse than they feared, because there are thousands of simulacra, all of them  _ standing  _ there, completely motionless. They’re everywhere. They line the streets, almost like they’re standing at attention, and Hamid swears loudly in his head as he notices more on the roof. None of them are moving. He doesn’t even recognize some of the models. There was nothing like it in the Harlequin’s notes, nothing to have predicted how they would mutate on their own. Nothing to explain how they could be building new versions of themselves this quickly.

Hamid takes a cautious step forward. 

They don’t attack.

_ Well, this is ominous as hell, _ he hears, and… yeah, little bit. He’s not the biggest fan of the situation, either. But as long as they’re not attacking, Hamid isn’t going to complain. There are so many that he wouldn’t even stand a chance. His best bet would be running, but he knows he wouldn’t get far. 

So he walks, slowly at first, and then quicker, heart pounding in his chest. He just wants to get away from all of this, put some distance between himself and the simulacra in case they suddenly activate and come after him. 

None of them move. It’s eerie, speeding through the alleyways bordered by all of the simulacra, unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. It’s like… they’re  _ waiting _ for something, waiting for a sign, and Hamid has no desire to stick around for what it might be. Every half second he has to glance back, make sure nothing’s following him, because there’s an ever-present chill running slowly down the back of his spine. 

There’s another unholy roar and Hamid immediately knows what it is. Think of the devil, and it shall appear. It’s the Spine, another terrible mutation of simulacra that Hamid doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with again. He got lucky the first time, and everything keeps getting  _ stronger _ , he - he won’t be able to win this battle. Not this time. 

He hears a whisper almost like it’s in the back of his mind and glances down at the sword. It’s faint, but he can only just hear him muttering a mantra under his breath. 

_ I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not that thing. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not that thing.  _ It goes on, and Hamid decides not to point it out. He just needs to move quickly, needs to put as much space possible between themselves and that thing. Last time, they just needed to get out of its range, and then he was fine. Once they get back to the promenade, they’ll be scot free. Hamid can grab the bike and they can get the hell out of here, get out to where Barrett is and see if there’s any way to save the city. 

He glances down at the sword, and there’s already a faint golden glow working at the edges. It’s working faster than last time, he realizes. Spreading more efficiently than Hamid knows how to handle. He - he has to just keep moving. There’s nothing else he can do. 

He starts to run. Stealth is out the window at this point - would be even if the simulacra weren’t all standing there like blank slates. Them not attacking is helpful, although Hamid really doesn’t have it in him to thank them for it. It’s down one alley and up another, down a set of stairs as his hand slips gently down the smooth railing. They can’t be too far from the promenade now, not too far from their escape out of this hell. 

_ There’s a thousand eyes on us, _ the voice says, almost sing-song, a tune from decades past, and Hamid looks down at the sword worryingly. The golden glow is getting stronger, just like it had before, and Hamid keeps running.  _ A thousand eyes, but mine are only for you _ .

They need to get away from the spine, before it can affect his love any longer, before it can do anything else. Not to mention it’s a nasty piece of work that Hamid really doesn’t want to have to deal with again. 

And then - a door. Specifically a backdoor, which isn’t going to solve their problems but will at least give him the time to catch his breath before he needs to run again. He dives for the door and nearly throws himself inside, stitch in his chest as he breathes heavily. 

_ God _ , he hears, and it’s still slurred but getting better.  _ I didn’t think we’d hit another one. Not this soon. I -  _ he pauses, and Hamid rests his hand comfortably on the blade as he makes his way over to the hammock sitting at the edge of the sandy island.  _ I hate how… insidious it is. It just fills up my entire brain, pushes me into the darkness. I… don’t feel real, when it does. Hamid, am - am I real? _

Hamid can’t answer that for him. He thinks so; he held his body in his arms, and if Hamid’s the only person left apart from Barrett, he doesn’t want to know about it. So he doesn’t think about it, instead setting a record on the player and carefully placing the needle. 

He lays down on the hammock and curls in on himself, staring out over the code-generated water. Hamid doesn’t know how time works in these things; he’s sure Liliana told him, once upon a time, but he’d locked a lot of the things she’d told him in a box and chucked the key after the break up. He doesn’t know if they can spend as much time here as they want to, as much as he wishes they could. 

The world… it’s a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. If Hamid has any sense he would just leave it behind, just fuck off to the suburbs and bring the sword and not think about anything he left behind. But - god, it’s sad, almost, but he still has hope that he can bring his love back. Maybe Barrett really does have the key to everything. Not just the key to stopping the simulacra, but the key to… changing it. To reverse how bad things have gone.

Hamid supposes he won’t know until he finds Barrett. And time is running out for them. 

_ We have to go back _ , he says, eventually, and Hamid nods, tightening his grip on the sword. They’ve come this far - there’s no way they can turn back now. Not when they’re this close.  _ Hey. I love you.  _

Hamid hums a bit in response, and the sword flashes a bright blue before dimming again.  _ If - just ignore me, out there, alright? I’ll be fine. Promise.  _

Hamid doesn’t believe him, but they really don’t have any other choice. He wishes he could say it back, tell him how much he loves him, but… well. All he can do is bite his lip and nod, squeezing the sword a bit tighter. 

Hamid immediately hears a groan the second they step outside, and glances worriedly at the sword. The golden glow is back, and he starts to move quickly again. 

_ Well, this is fun, _ he hears, a low grumble, and then nothing else. He starts running again, quickly, and then there’s another terrifying roar, closer this time. He can see the shape of the Spine in the distance, and it’s bigger than it was before. Fighting it is so out of the question the idea is almost laughable. The simulacra are still standing there on either side, staring straight ahead. Hamid had been worried that they would be activated when the Spine appeared, but none of them seem to have moved. It almost seems like there’s more now, and Hamid doesn’t know how they keep appearing. 

He just keeps moving.

_ W - Why -  _ he hears, a stuttering start to the sentence.  _ Why don’t I have a body anymore? _ Hamid’s heart sinks when he can’t respond, and he just keeps running.  _ I - god, Hamid, I would give anything just to…  _ he trails off, almost like the thought’s disappeared in his head. 

There’s another loud roar, and Hamid instinctively leaps to the side as a solid tail slams onto the concrete. He rolls once, twice, and then he’s scrabbling onto his feet again, a mad dash forward.

_ I can barely think straight, can barely feel you anymore, Hamid, it’s - it’s hard to remember what’s real and what isn’t. What is me and what is… it. _

Hamid can barely hear him over the roars of rage coming from the creature behind him as it gives chase. It doesn’t seem to care about the simulacra standing to attention along the road, smashing them into bits with its tail as Hamid dodges and weaves through them, trying to move as quickly as possible. He squeezes through a pair of them and ducks under a crack in the wall, but the Spine isn’t far behind. It screams, a dissonant sound that leaves a ringing in Hamid’s ears, and crashes through the metal, tearing and grinding.

It’s massive claws reach forward, and Hamid throws himself on the ground as a streak of laser fire nearly singes the top of his head. He can feel the heat coming off of it, but it’s gone soon enough and he’s up again, sprinting forward and trying to get away. 

_ We - we were happy, weren’t we? Before all this mess. We were in love, yeah? _ he says, and  _ god _ he sounds so tired, and Hamid can’t even say anything to reassure him that he loves him, to convince him that the past few years with him were some of the happiest of his life. 

All he can do is continue running, continue his mad dash toward where they left the bike. It’s their best option for getting out of the city quickly, and the Spine is still gaining on them. 

The tail hits pavement where Hamid had just been standing, and he keeps running, clutching at his side and trying to massage the stitch away. 

_ I wasn’t - it wasn’t a lie. I love you, so much. You know that. Right? _

He knows. He loves him too, desperately, and he wishes more than anything he could kiss him, but, well. Pressing his lips to cold metal would just make him get teased. 

_ We - I think we could have made it. I wanted to marry you, you know?  _

Hamid knows he’s crying, but he can’t stop now. They just have to make it to the bike, just have to get to the promenade, and then they can get out of here, go find Barrett, and stop all of this. 

_ I’m so sorry, Hamid, you - I wish we could have just been happy, I wish we could have been together until the end of time, I - I wanted to have it all, with you, with our friends. I wish…  _ he trails off as Hamid’s heart beats a staccato in his chest, lungs feeling like they’re being squeezed too tight for him to breathe.  _ I wish we’d... had more time.  _

No. He’s not  _ allowed _ to say goodbye. Hamid abjectly refuses to let that happen. He keeps running, and he can  _ see _ the causeway, finally, coming out of the fog. The Spine sounds farther away, as though Hamid’s finally putting distance between him and it, but he doesn’t chance a look backwards to check. He just keeps moving. 

The fog is getting stronger, the closer he gets to the causeway, and he can hear the scuttling of metallic legs on the ground all around him, although nothing appears and there’s no laser fire that comes out of the fog. Hamid’s still able to see the simulacra watching over him on the rooftop, and one runs away as he looks up, but they don’t do anything. The fog only seems to be low; the sky is still completely clear, but Hamid can barely see in front of him. 

He slows down, worried he’s going to lose himself, and the golden glow from the sword isn’t helping as he creeps forward. It - it feels like he’s being surrounded on all sides, and his head is on a swivel, but apart from some disturbances in the fog, nothing happens. 

The causeway is in front of him - Hamid lets the sword drop and glances around. He has to find the bike, has to get through to the promenade, and then they’ll have a straight shoot to Fairview. 

To Barrett. 

He takes another step forward and stops, sword glow dulling; the gold is starting to leech away, although it still overpowers the blue, and Hamid breathes a sigh of relief. They must be far enough from the Spine now, outside of its sphere of influence so that it isn’t affecting the sword anymore. Thank god. Hamid keeps moving; nothing wrong with continuing to put distance between themselves and it. 

_ What’s - what’s that?  _ he hears, and the voice is weaker than he wants it to be but there’s no slurring, so he doesn’t complain. He looks up, and notices a shadowy humanoid figure standing there at the edge of his vision, nearly obscured with fog. 

There’s - there’s a person standing at the end of the causeway, but they’re...  _ wrong _ . There are small tendrils sticking out of their head, and they’re moving in lopsided, awkward motions. It almost looks like they’re patrolling, and instead of a face, they have a smooth, perfectly shaped chrome plate covering it, golden strands pulsing through it. Hamid doesn’t even try to not be seen; it’s useless, at this point, and he needs to get to the dam bike.

This… thing, whatever it is, isn’t quick. Hamid can’t stomach fighting it - it’s too humanoid for him to be comfortable, not like the other simulacra. He leaps forward, slashing at its leg to slow it down, and it howls, a scream of pain that sounds like it’s been directly pulled from one of his worst nightmares. But he’s past it, and he swings a leg around the bike, kicking it into gear. The cry of pain changes into one of rage as the thing charges him, arms outstretched as its fingers morph into sharp claws. It’s too slow, though, and then Hamid’s speeding away, dodging the crates and cars and debris left on the causeway.

_ God, _ he hears over the roar of the bike, more a groan than a word.  _ What - did we get away? _

Hamid doesn’t need to answer, but he nods anyway. He wipes the tear tracks from his cheeks and continues driving.  _ I - love, I’m sorry for making you cry. I… I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t… couldn’t think.  _

Hamid swallows, heavily. He hums quietly, and he hears a sigh.  _ I know, I - I’m still sorry, though. So, yeah. Sorry. I love you.  _ Hamid lets his hand rest against the flat of the blade and pats twice; he doesn’t know how to convey the fact that no apologies are needed. 

Neither of them make a noise as the bike streaks down the road, illuminated in the light of the lanterns that hang from posts along the side. There are no simulacra about, but Hamid chances one glance back and sees, through the fog, through the darkness, a twisting black shape flying through the sky as the Spine retreats to the top of the city. 

Hamid brings the bike around and brakes, skidding to a stop as they make it to the edge of the causeway. He leaves the bike sitting against some of the barrels sitting there and slides off of it, getting ready in case they need to fight their way out. 

He pushes open the door to the promenade and steps through. He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open as he looks around, trying to make sense of what he can see. They’re back. And it - it’s completely different. 

The simulacra are still crowding the streets but none of them seem to care about him. They’re all across the square, clambering over the buildings, and Hamid’s watching the city change before his very eyes. Everything looks chrome, now; the old stone work of the fountain, of the buildings, of the shops… it’s all gone, changed into an unbroken stream of metal. 

_ What the hell happened here? _ he hears, and shakes his head. It’s - the entire city has been taken over. The simulacra are changing it, down to its very core, and there’s nothing anyone is going to be able to do about. Except, maybe, for Barrett and his kill switch.

Hamid keeps walking. He hates being here, trapped within this metal acropolis. It’s possible that the simulacra hasn’t stretched out as far as Fairview yet, hasn’t moved on beyond the city. He can only hope.

_ Hey. Over there.  _ Hamid turns, and sees his old concert poster. It’s a bit torn, now, frayed at the edges, water damp. He still walks over to it and holds his hand up, fingers touching the paper. It’s one of the only sections of the original wall that hasn’t been touched yet, and he leans toward it, forehead touching the cool brick. They don’t have a lot of time before this changes, too. 

_ You still look beautiful,  _ he hears, quiet and aching, and swallows.  _ I didn’t think anything like this was ever on the cards for us. Everything’s changed, so much.  _ Hamid bites his lip as his hand falls from the poster, limp at his side. Everything’s changed is right. The very fabric of the city is being rebuilt around them; he doesn’t have time to reminisce on old memories or on how he wishes things could be.  _ Hey. It’s okay.  _

Hamid wipes away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes; he hadn’t even known they were there. 

He takes this moment, for himself. He turns around and leans against the brick, the last remnant of the city he knew, the city he loved, the person he used to be. It’s… cold, here. He can see the metal creeping ever closer as the simulacra continue their work, and Hamid shivers. The coat around his shoulders is too big for him, but he pulls it tighter around himself as though it’s enough of a substitute for the embrace he really wants. 

_ Hamid…  _ the voice trails off as Hamid sniffs, rubbing at his face with the rough sleeve. He’s sure he looks terrible, cuts running up and down his arms, in a tattered old coat and a golden dress ripped at the knees, and he doesn’t even want to know what his makeup’s been doing.  _ We should go.  _

They should. He’s right. Hamid… he doesn’t have time to grieve everything he’s lost. He’s come this far, letting go now is unthinkable. He pushes himself off the wall just as, behind him, the metal connects and covers up his old poster. 

Hamid doesn’t look back. He… he just keeps walking, ignoring the simulacra slowly changing the world around him, ignoring the far-off cries of a monster that should have ever come into being in the first place. Fairview is what’s important now. Fairview, and the kill switch, and finding a way to get the Trace of his love back into his body so Hamid isn’t the only one left. 

_ Fairview, here we come,  _ he hears, and nods, heading down a narrow side street. It won’t be long, now. Hamid ducks into an alley for a shortcut, and then draws short as he sees another terminal tucked away into a corner. He approaches it hesitantly - it’s another alert, but it’s blinking a bright gold instead of the normal blue or red he expects. He taps the screen and, after a moment, it glows even brighter, text appearing on the screen.

**> >Hello, Hamid. ** The terminal reads, and Hamid recoils, looking at it suspiciously.

**> >What would you like the weather to be today? **

**> Snow**

**> Rain**

**Input: . . .**

The cursor blinks, waiting for his selection, and Hamid bites his lip.  _ Why does it know your name?  _ he hears, and shakes his head. It has to be the sword. It has to be. There’s nothing else that could have keyed his name in, and he doesn’t understand what it could have been. 

_ Say snow,  _ the voice suggests, and Hamid keys it in. 

**Snow**

**> >Waiting… Waiting…**

**> >Your request has been processed.**

**> >Stand by.**

Hamid feels something wet and cold on his head and looks up, chest tight. There are little snowflakes falling around him, small and white. They’re cold to the touch, and seem as real as anything, even though there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. He holds his hand out and they melt on contact with his skin. 

_ How the  _ **_hell_ ** _ did they make this happen, _ he hears, and shakes his head. It’s - it’s unprecedented, this level of instantaneous control over the city. It’s messing with so much - so much beyond Hamid’s knowledge, even. He has no idea how it could affect this much, on such large a scale. It’s - the simulacra is more powerful than they realized.

Hamid takes a step back, horror creeping through his veins. He - it all feels lost, now. They’re too late to stop anything, too late to fix it. The city is a lost cause; they won’t be able to save anything, but maybe they’ll be able to end this, if whatever ace Barrett’s hiding up his sleeve actually works. 

They just have to find him, first, and convince him that they can help. He has to keep walking. Standing here as the snow slowly falls around them isn’t going to save anyone - well, nothing’s going to save anyone, not anymore, not  _ now _ , but he keeps going anyway. 

_ Wait, what’s that?  _ he hears, and glances off to the left and right before finally spotting what he must be talking about. There’s a small monitor there, hovering in the air. Hamid can barely make out the face on the screen, so he gets a bit closer, and then completely freezes in place. Well. Two devils seem to have shown up today. 

It’s  _ Barrett.  _ Barrett Rackett, the only remaining Harlequin in existence. The only one who has even half a chance of saving their entire world. God. Terrible shoulders to bear that  _ particular  _ weight. 

**_“Hello, Hamid.”_ ** The voice is just this side of condescending and  _ posh _ , nearly dismissive, and Hamid can already feel his hackles start to rise.  **_“My apologies for not being here in person, but, well - the world does seem to be at least a little bit on fire at the moment, so I hope you’ll forgive me my caution. Pleasure to meet you, after all this time. You knew Sasha, didn’t you?”_ **

_ Fuck you,  _ Hamid hears; it’s more vitriol than he’s ever heard, and he knows why. Sasha and Barrett has a history, and Hamid might not know the entire story, but he knows that anyone who can put that much fear into Sasha’s eyes isn’t someone Hamid cares for. 

**_“Oh, you must be the fool who jumped in front of the blade. Forgive me for not knowing your name, but I don’t really care.”_ ** The monitor floats forward and gets closer to the sword, slowly rotating around it for a moment.  **_“You’ll do. Follow me.”_ **

_ Why the hell would we do that? _ he says, anger ever present in his voice. Hamid agrees; he has no desire to follow Barrett to… whatever the hell it is. 

**_“You want to save the city, right?”_ ** The monitor floats backwards and turns, starting to disappear into the fog.  **_“This is the only chance you’ll get.”_ **

Hamid glances down at the sword. It could be a trap. It could all be part of the long game, a way to get the sword back and rule the city from on high, but… something doesn’t feel right. Barrett’s tone is almost overly unconcerned with the whole business, to the point where Hamid doesn’t trust it. He frowns.

Barrett’s trying to fake him out. He’s - not terrified, maybe, but nervous. Anxious. Whether of the situation or Hamid or - or the sword itself, Hamid doesn’t know, but he knows Barrett isn’t half as cool as he’s trying to play it. 

He follows him, anxiety making his stomach twist around in circles. The monitor doesn’t move quickly; it’s easy enough for Hamid to keep up. He’s been moving at such a breakneck pace since this entire thing began that this leisurely stroll almost feels like cheating. 

**_“If we hadn’t meddled, it might have worked, you know,”_ ** Barrett says, almost conversational.  **_“But Le Gourmand… they decided to mess with the system. Had endless ideas for how to make it better, to make it… smarter, he said.”_ ** He snorts.  **“** **_Look how well that worked out.”_ **

It’s almost too perfect timing. Hamid recognizes this place; it’s where everything began, where he found the Transistor, where - where he found the body of his love, what feels like so long ago. He bristles, and can feel the anger nearly radiating from the sword. 

_ Listen up, you - _

**_“Wow, he’s a touchy one, isn’t he? What’s his name again… Zulf? Zolf? Sasha mentioned you, a few times. I wonder, is she in the sword with you? Pity. She always had so much skill. Wasted it, not joining up with us.”_ **

Hamid can feel the sword holding back his words and freezes himself, staring daggers at the back of Barrett’s monitor. It would be so easy, really, to drive the sword through it, to smash it into pieces, but… but. Barrett has the kill switch, and they don’t have a chance in hell of figuring it out without his help. 

_ Fuck you,  _ the sword spits, eventually, and Barrett lets out a dry chuckle.

**_“My, the mouth on you. Sasha didn’t lie, now.”_ ** The monitor floats away, and Hamid is sorely tempted to let it go. They have the bike and the sword; they could just get out of this hellscape now, leave everyone including Barrett to their fate, and outrun the simulacrum. Trap it in the city, somehow, so that they can be free. 

But.

God, there’s always a but. They still need the kill switch, Hamid still needs to figure out how to revive his love… they aren’t able to give up, now. They’ve come too far. So he follows Barrett, and can feel the smug energy simply radiating out of the monitor. 

They make it to the docks eventually; there’s no boats there, and Hamid stares out across the water as the monitor starts floating out over it, Barrett humming some unrecognizable melody under his breath. He taps the sword against the concrete below and the monitor turns, song ending abruptly. Hamid gestures to the water, a little lost, and Barrett snaps his fingers as the monitor comes closer before arcing off to the left. Hamid follows closely behind, not wanting to lose it in the fog. 

**_“The sword is the key. We certainly didn’t understand that when we made it, but it doesn’t stop it from being true,”_ ** Barrett explains, sighing.  **_“It wasn’t supposed to be the end result, but not all scientific progress ends up with what you want, yes?”_ **

The monitor floats forward and rests beside another terminal, but this one doesn’t have a screen, simply a slot that Hamid recognizes as being for the sword. 

**_“Build us a bridge, would you, Hamid?”_ ** Barrett asks, and Hamid looks over at the monitor, confused.  **_“It’s quite simple. All you need to do is ask.”_ **

It sounds… absolutely mad. But, well, Hamid’s been living in a hell of the Harlequin’s own making for what feels like forever at this point, so what does he have to lose? He goes up to the terminal and sticks the sword in the slot, and it turns on his own. Hamid gives Barrett another look, a question that he can decide to answer or  _ not _ , and Barrett scoffs.

**_“Just ask.”_ **

Helpful. Hamid squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about a bridge, asks for the terminal to help them. He doesn’t feel anything, doesn’t hear anything, so he cracks an eye open and looks around. 

There’s a bridge, now, stretching off across the water. It’s almost ridiculously opulent, with statues along the sides that carry lights to illuminate the path. Hamid pulls the sword out and the bridge stays, looking for all the world as though it’s always been there. 

_ What… Did. Did we do that? Did the sword build that?  _ he hears, and Barrett laughs. 

**_“I told you. The sword is the key to the entire city now. Anything you want, you can create. Now. I believe we have a job to do.”_ **

The monitor floats onto the bridge and Hamid follows, as Barrett continues to speak. The fog hasn’t lifted at all, giving everything an eerie look that Hamid doesn’t much appreciate. 

**_“Where was I… yes. The sword. As I’m sure you’re aware, it has some level of control over the simulacra. It’s a sort of focal point for the machinery, although we never were able to puzzle out why. It doesn’t really matter, though - the why, I mean. All that does matter is that the sword is what’s going to save us. The sword - and you, Hamid. Ah - here we are,”_** Barrett announces, and they all step off the bridge into what used to be Fairview. 

Hamid wants to ask what he means, wants to know why he’s the one who’s going to save them all. Guy has said that picking him to be the experiment hadn’t been anything more than a coincidence, and act of revenge by Liliana - a final act, as it turned out. 

Hamid steps off the bridge and stops dead in his tracks as he really takes a look at Fairview, up close. 

Everything is…  _ wrong _ . Fairview used to be an old run-down bit of town; it had cobblestone roads and colorful buildings that looks as though they could collapse at any minute. There was an old graveyard stretching out beyond the shops overlooking the water. The entire point of the town had been to be a reminder of the past - a historical look back at how things used to look, a direct contrast to Cloudbank and the high-level technology at play there. 

Hamid had been a few times, visiting with his family. Whatever Fairview is now… it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Nearly everything is white or grey, and everything seems to be made out of metal. It’s just like Cloudbank, now, but making less… sense. It doesn’t even have the bare skeleton of a city, anymore. It… it’s just platforms and doors, facing in every direction, and half of the doors lead to nowhere. Hamid’s brain can barely comprehend any of it, so he doesn’t look up.

**_“I’m the only one left, now,”_ ** Barrett says, and there's… something there Hamid can’t read. It almost sounds like regret, but he doesn’t think Barrett’s capable of the emotion.  **_“Yes, I know the rest are dead. I told them it would be suicidal to remain, but none of them listened.”_ **

Hamid follows the monitor through a door and then stumbles as he ends up on a platform, standing completely parallel to the floor he just left. 

_ What the hell?  _ he hears, and glances around. He grabs onto a pillar, expecting his feet to start sliding, but it feels as though the gravity has recentered on the platform he’s on. It’s - not a pleasant feeling, and his stomach starts to roil as he looks down, seeing how far up they are. 

**_“Oh, this?”_ ** Barrett says, dismissive.  **_“Don't worry. You won’t fall. The simulacra have made sure of it.”_ **

Hamid isn’t sure about any of this, but the monitor is still moving forward, so he needs to as well. He gingerly lets go of the pillar and steps forward, feet finding purchase on solid ground instead of him plummeting to his death like he expected. It’s… not the greatest experience, but he finds that if he keeps his eyes resolutely forward, he can at least keep his head straight. Fractals float by him, in the fog, and he shakes his head slightly, not looking around until he’s through another door and back on the ground.

**_“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”_ ** Hamid strongly considers flipping Barrett the bird; he’s not even here to experience it, just a face on a screen. He doesn’t, in the end.  **_“Pick up the pace a bit, if you don’t mind? The clock is starting to run out.”_ **

Hamid does, if only to shut Barrett up, and then he’s through another door and walking sideways again. He’s tempted to cover his eyes, but doesn’t trust that he won’t just walk right off, so there’s nothing he can do except grit his teeth and advance. 

It’s like geometry and gravity have refused to exist in tandem with one another, and it's making Hamid’s head spin. He walks in one door and then walks out into a wall, facing a completely different direction, and he doesn’t fall, which is the most surprising. At one point, he ends up upside down, and yet the blood doesn’t start rushing to his head as he walks as quickly as possible toward the door at the end of the platform. The monitor seems completely unaffected by all of this, floating along as Hamid tries to keep up and tries to keep from vomiting as his center of gravity keeps resetting itself.

**_“You probably wouldn’t be able to understand most of the science behind the sword,”_ ** Barrett says dismissively, and Hamid feels himself bristle.  **_“I don’t understand it completely myself - it was supposed to be Le Gourmand and Kafka working together to create something altogether new. Something powerful._ **

**_“We got that, alright.”_ **

He stumbles through another door and they’re finally on an unending stretch of platform, right side up. Everything in his head settles and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

_ Let’s not do that again, yeah?  _ he hears, and nods his agreement. He follows along as the monitor starts to float away. 

**_“I know you won’t believe this, but we didn’t want this to happen. Le Gourmand did… something to it. It stopped responding to us, and we lost control over the simulacra. It’s doing whatever it wants, now.”_ **

_ And, what, it wants to take over the city? Did you program that little process into it too?  _ he snarls, but the monitor doesn’t stop.

**_“Mr. Smith, I ask that you refrain from commenting. You can’t understand the measures we went to to keep it contained, so don’t try to assume our motivations.”_ **

_ You know, Sasha told me about you. About how you raised her. And I know enough from that to know that you’re exactly the kind of man who would love to profit off the suffering of others. So tell us what you want to say instead of tiptoeing around the issue, or I’ll be tempted to drown you in a bucket. _ Hamid gives the sword a look at this, because he’s had some terrible threats before but this one really takes the cake.  _ What?  _ Hamid shakes his head.

**_“As I was saying,”_** Barret says, neatly ignoring the threat. **_“This wasn’t the intended outcome, but it’s the one we got. And now, we just have to do something about it.”_**

They come to an end eventually, the path winding down to an abrupt drop. Hamid almost wouldn’t have seen it if the monitor hadn’t come to a complete stop as well. He looks around but doesn’t see any way to climb down, or any other path to take, and glances over at the monitor, confusion clear on his face. 

**_“You’ll have to jump,”_ ** Barrett says, and Hamid glances over the edge before giving the monitor a disbelieving look.

_ Fat chance,  _ the sword says, and Hamid nods. On the monitor, Barrett shrugs, and the monitor begins to float downward. 

**_“It’s safe, but if you don’t come quickly… well. Your funeral.”_ **

Hamid looks over the edge again. He can’t even see that far down, thanks to the endless fog that’s shrouding the entire city. 

_ How the hell is he supposed to survive the fall?  _ he snaps, and Hamid watches as the monitor disappears into the fog.

**_“He just has to believe in the Transistor.”_ ** And then he’s gone, below the fog, and Hamid is left there all alone as he chews on his lip, unsure. 

_ Well, that’s fucking helpful, _ he hears.  _ Just jump. Sure. Gods.  _

It’s hard to tell how far down it is, but Hamid doesn’t know if they have any other options. There aren’t any… ladders or ropes or anything that Hamid can use to get down.

There’s a sudden onslaught of clicks and taps behind him and looks back, spotting golden light shining throughout the alleyway. The simulacra are heading toward him, and Hamid’s out of time to consider it anymore. 

_ Do you trust whatever the hell this sword is?  _ Hamid doesn’t know. He doesn’t trust the Harlequins, really. Doesn’t trust what they made. But… he trusts the Trace of the man he loves that’s trapped inside the sword, and that’s enough for him as he nods, wishing he could just say it. 

_ Okay. You ready? _ he hears, and looks down at the sword in his hands. He nods and, together, they leap off the edge of the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s 1am and. shenanigans are afoot.


	7. a fly on the wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> split the chap into 2 parts bc it’s even more ridiculously long than the last 2. home stretch now boys!!! it’s almost complete!!!

The wind blows around them as Hamid falls, and he can’t help it; he lets out a laugh, high and bright. The world is beautiful from up here, just a bright city awash in a golden glow as the sun remains, an ever-fixed point behind the city. He doesn’t let go of the sword, but he throws his arms around it in a facsimile of a hug, lapels of the jacket he’s wearing fluttering in the wind. The fall feels like it takes forever; Hamid is suspended, a moment in time, a moment in space, and for a moment he swears this could all have been a dream, could all have been a game, as he closes his eyes and just lets himself feel. The horizon stretches out in every direction, and the air is a pleasant warmth all around him as he lets his arms drift to the side, like he’s flying. 

The wind picks up, spinning him in a lazy circle, and Hamid lets it take him, revels in the way the sun glints off the sword, lets everything float away as he hangs there, nearly frozen.

But the moment could never last, could it?

Hamid’s feet touch the ground gently as the wind dies down; he doesn’t really know how that happened, doesn’t understand how it worked, but he really doesn’t have the time to think about it now. Barrett is talking as they land, monitor slowly floating away off into more fog. 

**_“We’ll be there soon,”_ ** Barrett says, voice echoing around the skeletons of the buildings around them. Everything looks… too simple. Square blocks of grey that once pretended to be a city, a pale imitation of what used to be there. 

_ You said I don’t have any idea about your motivations, _ he hears, and watches as the monitor seems to falter for a moment.  _ Fine. Tell us.  _

Hamid doesn’t think Barrett is going to answer, for a moment. He wouldn’t be surprised, either; but after a moment, Hamid hears a slow intake of breath. 

**_“When everything changes…”_ ** Barrett starts, letting the words trail off into nothing. It almost sounds like he’s forgotten that there’s an audience, that he’s just rambling to himself. He snorts.  **_“It was our… little motto. Our way of convincing ourselves that what we did was right. That our mission was always the most important good._ **

**_“‘When everything changes, nothing does.’ And the city changed every day, always changing, always becoming something different. Well, when you have that much change, it starts getting… old. There are only so many permutations of the same situation, only so many ways things can change before they start getting predictable. I was so… tired. Of everyone making choices. Of living in a world of manufactured change, where the weather was determined by a goddamn popularity poll._ **

**_“So… we inserted something new into the system. A wild card, something that could give us more than the facsimile of choice that we lived with.”_ **

Hamid… hasn’t ever thought about it that way. Everything, every decision made in the city, comes from the people. It - he’d never seen it as something negative. It was supposed to be decided by the people, by the ones who would be most affected by it.

**_“Human choice… it’s so fallible, Hamid. So capricious. The Harlequins wanted to create a massive change, a way to return the power to nature, to the world itself. Look through our history books. We aren’t supposed to be the ones making changes on such a… grandiose scale._ **

**_“So, when Kafka approached me about this project, I couldn’t agree quickly enough. We’d already worked together for years, as I rose through the ranks in the underworld and slowly gained my own power. My own ability to make choices for myself, instead of living with whatever the majority wanted. Choice is supposed to be messy, unpredictable… and yet here every citizen was, content in being nothing more than part of the system. A binary piece, contributing nothing but a single vote that meant nothing in the grand scale.”_ **

Hamid swallows heavily as Barrett presses on, continuing to speak. It almost sounds dreamlike, at this point, a continuous ramble that Hamid thinks he’s been holding on to for a while. Just… looking for someone to tell. 

**_“I was the one who found the sword. Actually, no, that’s not accurate. I suppose you could say the sword found me. Somewhere around here.”_ ** The monitor floats over to the edge of the path and sits, staring out at the white fog covering the rest of the visible skyline. It doesn’t move for a second; Hamid can swear he hears Barrett whispering something tinged with regret, but he can’t make out the words.  **_“There was a crater, unexplored after all this time, and a… strange metal was sitting there. It called to me. I think… I think it was waiting for the right person to come along, and then I did.”_ **

There’s almost a tone of reverence in his voice, and when the monitor turns back toward Hamid, he doesn’t miss how Barrett seems to only be looking at the sword, something unreadable in his gaze. Hamid doesn’t react, doesn’t move, staring straight ahead at the monitor. It turns away eventually, and continues heading down the path. Hamid tightens his grip on the sword and bites his lip when Barrett can no longer see him, waiting a moment before following. He leaves a little more distance in between the two of them, now, even though he’s relatively sure that the monitor is just that, nothing more. 

**_“The sword… we called it the Transistor, but you knew that already. It was supposed to save us all - that was Kafka’s lofty goal, anyway. I was a bit more hesitant,”_ ** Barrett says, voice getting quiet enough that Hamid has to strain to hear it.  **_“We already had the power over the city. Crime was down. The arts were flourishing. We didn’t need someone - something - to save us. But Kafka refused to listen to reason. Refused to listen to me, refused to listen to Guy, and then they brought in Liliana to expedite the entire process._ **

**_“The sword wasn’t what we imagined it would be. It was just supposed to be a… focal point for the simulacrum. A control switch. Nothing more. As you can see,”_ ** Barrett cuts himself off and the monitor floats around the buildings on either side of them. They’re all a perfect chrome white, identical in size and shape. It’s too…. perfect, too angular, too  _ mathematical _ to be natural.  **_“That wasn’t what we ended up with.”_ **

Hamid reaches out and pokes one of the buildings, pulling it back as it gives him a light shock. Cautiously this time, he reaches out and presses his palm against it. There’s a thrumming undercurrent of energy there, and it doesn’t feel completely solid. It’s almost like the entire building is an illusion, and if Hamid pushed hard enough, he would be able to push through. He pulls his hand back; it’s still tingling a bit, and Hamid gives the buildings around them one last, confused look before heading off after the monitor again. 

**_“I know you hear your… Mr. Smith in there. He’s able to speak, which is more than some of the traces in the sword are capable of.”_ ** The monitor gently floats around a pillar as Hamid follows it, avoiding the crumbled ground that seems as though it falls away into a deep white fog of nothing. 

_ Why am I the only one who can?  _ he asks, and Hamid tilts his head, curious.

The monitor turns back toward them and Hamid sees Barrett shrug.  **_“There are a number of reasons. You’re not the first Trace in there, nor are you the last. It may be because of your strong emotional connection to Mr. Tahan, but we never did know enough about how the sword worked in the first place to have a good idea.”_ **

_ Then why did you inflict it on the entire city?  _ he asks, venom thrumming through the words.  _ You didn’t know anything about it but you thought it would  _ **_work_ ** _? _

**_“Science is about experimentation, Mr. Smith. We can’t always know what’s going to happen.”_ ** He doesn’t sound concerned, even now, with the impact his actions had, and Hamid can feel himself bristling when he thinks about the complete and total annihilation of the city that Hamid was lucky enough to avoid. 

_ Fuck you,  _ he hears, laced with vitriol. Barrett doesn’t respond, continuing to head forward. 

**_“A Trace was… an interesting discovery that we made only a few years ago. We never did get to learn much about it - the moment Liliana joined the project, she dropped that… ridiculous backdoor project and immediately started studying the properties of Traces,”_ ** Barrett says, and floats back toward them, hovering above the sword.  **_“Do either of you know anything about it?”_ **

Hamid shakes his head. He’s got some idea, but not much - and, considering the fact that he can’t even speak right now, nothing to really contribute. He remembers Liliana mentioning it, back when they were together, but he’s not going to lie and pretend like he understood any of it. Liliana was always smarter than he was, always more interested in the technological side of things than he was. It’s why they worked so well together, for a time, and probably at least half the reason they fell apart, eventually. Liliana never talked about Traces often; they were so new, so… unexplored. She’d expressed interest, for sure but it had never reached anything close to involvement - until, it seems, she met the Harlequins. Hamid remembers some of what she said, although most of it is nothing more than a blurry half-remembered memory. 

She’d - they weren’t  _ souls _ , exactly. They were more like an essence of a person, distilled down to the very marrow, and they had  _ power.  _ Hamid doesn’t know exactly how, doesn’t know what power they held, but he remembers Liliana’s excitement to research them, to learn more about how something that was just a remnant of a person could have that much life in them, that much cognitive ability. 

_ We know enough, _ he hears, and nods in agreement. Barrett makes an approving hum and moves a bit closer to the sword; Hamid has to force himself not to step back and pull it away. 

**_“The sword… absorbs them. Pulls them into itself, reads their memories, their likes, their dislikes, their hopes and dreams, their regrets, even their genetic code. And then it stores it away for… safekeeping. To improve itself, to make itself stronger. That’s why we had to choose carefully. You would have been an outlier - it hadn’t been carefully planned out, but, well. Liliana had a request and Kafka hated to say no to her._ **

**_“So the question becomes - why are we able to hear you, Zolf?”_ **

Hamid doesn’t know; he looks down at the sword when it’s suspiciously silent, and then back at Barrett, who’s steepled his hands under his chin and are watching the both of them. Hamid shakes his head. 

**_“It doesn’t make sense, but your answer is as good as mine is in this situation. By my calculations, you should just be another number in the system, another brain in the bank helping the Transistor learn. But something… pulled you out. Mr. Tahan here may have something to do with it, he may not. I fear we won’t be getting any answers anytime soon, not now that our three main researchers have been lost.”_ **

They turn a corner and Hamid stops short; there’s another glowing door poking out from between the buildings, and Hamid tilts his head, confused. He didn’t know that these had even been built this far outside of the city. 

_ A backdoor? _ he hears, quiet, and Hamid nods.  _ Well. Fancy a vacation? Again?  _

Hamid isn’t sure if they should, but Barrett doesn’t seem to be hurrying them along, so he decides to head in, dragging the sword behind him.

It’s as peaceful as it always is, but there’s a strange electricity to the air now, almost like it knows it’s almost over. Hamid doesn’t even bother going over to the hammock this time; he just sits on one of the tree’s gnarled roots and sighs, leaning back against the bark as the sword rests against his legs. 

_ What are you thinking? _ the voice says, and Hamid… doesn’t know. It’s not like he could  _ say _ if it he did know anyway but mostly he just feels… tired. Ready for this entire mess to be over. If Barrett really can end this, then Hamid is willing to go along for the ride. It’s something he has to do, now; no one else is around to take up the mantle, to shoulder the responsibility.

He’s trying hard not to think about what comes after. Or what comes if it doesn’t work the way Barrett wants it to. 

_ We have to stick it out,  _ he hears, and nods. They do. They’ve come this far already.  _ Barrett’s a snake, but I don’t think he’s lying. And if he can actually destroy the simulacra… we might be safe.  _

Safe. It’s a concept Hamid feels like he’s almost forgotten, having been on the run from the simulacra for what seems like forever. Standing on that stage, singing for an audience… it feels like a lifetime ago, now. The idea that this could all be over soon, that the city could be saved, that Barrett could be the one leading them toward salvation… it’s all a confusing mishmash of facts and emotions that Hamid doesn’t have the time or mental energy to separate. All he can do is keep pressing forward in the hope that it’ll work, that this nightmare will be over. 

_ We can stay here for longer, you know,  _ he hears, soft, and Hamid cracks an eye open, staring at the illusory stars blinking above them, completely stationary in the night sky.  _ We don’t have to go just yet. _

Hamid knows. But there’s no point in pushing off the inevitable. Either it works or it doesn’t; he at least has to  _ try.  _ It’s more than the Harlequins were willing to do, after all. And he can feel his skin starting to shiver with anticipation. This could all be over soon, this entire nightmare, and then Hamid can figure out how to bring his love back and they can finally be happy together. 

This just needs to  _ work.  _

He stands up; the sand, doesn’t even stick to him. He pulls the sword up and nods, staring at the door leading back to reality, and heads out, determination plain on his face. 

They come back to Barrett speaking.  **_“... it’s the root of everything, I think. The true cause behind it.”_ **

Hamid immediately freezes and gives the monitor a look, but Barrett isn’t looking at them as he muses. 

_ Wanna repeat that?  _ he hears, but Barrett doesn’t seem to - or just doesn’t care. 

The monitor moves on, floating away, and Hamid follows it. The path gets weird again - arches lead to new spaces, to being upside down, to being catapulted across the rooftops and, needless to say, Hamid isn’t a fan. His head spins as he walks, but it’s not like he can avoid it. He just has to keep going. It finally reverts back to a long, unchanging stretch and he can breathe again, following along behind the monitor as it moves unerringly down the path. 

_ Hamid, there’s a terminal over there,  _ he hears, and looks around, spotting it sitting in the middle of a path branching off in a new direction. He gives the monitor a fleeting look and then makes a detour, heading over to it as curiosity kindles in his chest. A terminal all the way out here - he doesn’t even know if it’ll still work, but as he gets closer it seems to boot up, screen flickering before turning white. 

**> > CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE RETRIEVED. READ?**




**> > DATE [UNKNOWN]: “I’m going in again. Don’t take me out of it this time, I want to see how deep I can go. I really think we’re on to something here. Soon, we’ll have all the answers we need. - Barrett”**

**> > ARCHIVE? **

**Y**

**> > MESSAGE ARCHIVED **

**> > SEARCHING . . . **

**> > CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE RETRIEVED. READ?**




A list pops up on the screen and Hamid gasps, hand flying up to cover his mouth. 

_ It’s the Harlequin’s hit list,  _ he hears, and nods along, glancing back to look at where Barrett is patiently waiting for them. Half of the message is cut off, text glitching halfway but Hamid can still make out most of it. 

**> > “... come to my attention that we’re going to … in order to ensure the success of our mission. These are our first group of targets. We’ll have to … be delayed, so no suspicion falls on our heads. Good luck. **

**Brock Rackett**

**Sasha Rackett**

**Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam**

**Azu**

**Celquillithon Sidebottom**

**Francois Henri**

**Eldarion**

**Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan - a special request”**

He only knew a few of them - Sasha, Grizzop, Azu… the rest he doesn’t know personally. The name Brock is familiar, and the last name is obvious. He recalls, faintly, that Sasha’d had a cousin go missing years ago, before they’d known her, and that she’d never quite been able to figure out what happened to him. 

He remembers Cel. They’d been a primary scientist in their field, outspoken against how the Harlequins were starting to research the Trace. Their lab had exploded months ago; it had been a tragedy. Their body hadn’t even been  _ found.  _ Hamid - Hamid wonders if the explosion had been a cover up, a way for the Harlequins to begin building the Traces within the sword without anyone questioning them. Missing bodies, people who wouldn’t necessarily be missed, making it easy enough to dissuade any interested parties from evaluating further. 

Hamid shivers. He was almost one of them, thanks to a years-long grudge from Liliana. She always  _ did _ have trouble letting things go. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, and the screen goes black before he can read further, a transmission error blinking a bright red. It reflects off the buildings around him, and Hamid ducks back onto the main pathway as Barrett heads on, unconcerned. 

**_“Don’t worry, you two,”_ ** the small monitor says, as Barrett’s face glitches for half a second.  **_“We’re almost there.”_ **

And, god, he doesn’t say it, but it sounds like  _ we’re almost free.  _

Hamid swallows as he finally spots what looks like a huge warehouse in the distance. It looks like it’s been completely locked down, with bars over the windows and a huge metal slab over the door. Barrett doesn’t seem overly concerned, leading them along the only path this place seems to have. 

_ I don’t like this, _ he hears, a mutter that he can barely even make out. Barrett must not hear, continuing to head forward. Hamid can’t say anything in response, so he just pats the hilt and ignores him as he grumbles.  _ Just… be careful, yeah?  _

Hamid nods, and presses on. They don’t really have an option at this point, not when the simulacra are slowly taking over everything. 

The monitor halts in front of the big warehouse doors and pauses as a screen appears from one of the side panels. Hamid doesn’t see what it’s doing, but he can see lines of code rushing across the screen, faster and faster until they’re completely illegible. It doesn’t take long before there’s a quiet  _ ping _ and then a loud grinding sound as the doors begin to rumble, slowly moving up. They don’t open much; just enough for Hamid to walk under without bending, and Hamid follows the monitor into the darkness, stood there unable to see as the doors shut behind them. It’s only for a moment, and then there’s an eerie red glow as the walkway in front of them begins to slowly light. The warehouse itself is still dark, but Hamid’s eyes are slowly starting to readjust. In front of them lies a long walkway; Hamid can’t see the end of it, but so far it seems relatively straightforward, with no other paths branching off from it. On either side of the walkway there’s a gap, dropping off into nothingness.

_ Watch your step, yeah?  _ he hears, and nods, pulse jumping a bit as he looks over the edge. 

He takes a step forward and stops, way blocked by a glowing red barrier that he can’t pass. He reaches out but there seems to be an invisible wall around the barrier so he can’t even touch it. It doesn’t take long before the entire barrier seems to shudder and shake, rising up slowly and just enough for Hamid to duck under them. He does so, only to be confronted with another directly in front of them. 

_ Alright, what’s going on?  _ he hears, and Hamid frowns, looking at the barrier ahead. Behind them, the barrier is starting to lower, leaving them caught between the two. 

“Welcome, welcome,” they hear, and Hamid glances around, looking up. 

_ Barrett _ .

Barrett. He’s standing above them, now, eyes on a computer. He’s behind a glass barrier, almost like a foreman’s office, and he’s slowly tracking their process as they head down the metal walkway. Barrett is manually pulling back the barriers as they walk, manually putting them back up once they’re through again. Hamid’s almost impressed; it's a good way to keep the simulacra out, but then again, this is the guy who helped create them in the first place. If he didn’t know how to do it, no one would. 

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but I assume you both would rather be alive than dealing with the simulacra if they broke in,” he says over a loudspeaker. It’s a fair assumption, Hamid concedes, waiting for the barrier behind them to close. The second it touches solid ground the one in front of them begins to rise, a slow grinding sound as Hamid waits before ducking under it, starting to get impatient. There are only a few barriers left, it seems, and through them he can see what looks like a slightly raised plinth on the ground. There’s a slot running across the stone, big enough for the sword, and Hamid’s starting to get an idea as to what Barrett’s going to ask them for. He grips the sword tighter and frowns.

_ Think it’s gonna work?  _ he hears, and gives the sword a concerned glance. He hopes it does - god, he hopes it does - but he doesn’t know if he trusts Barrett enough. Still… they don’t really have another option. 

“In case you’re concerned, I’m… nearly a hundred percent sure this is the best option available to us,” Barrett explains, and Hamid swallows. “Once the sword is placed back into its slot, all the simulacra will vanish as though they’d never been here at all. The sword is… their tether, of sorts. I just need you to cut the rope.”

Hamid nods, and steps through the final barrier. The plinth is right in front of them: Hamid can make out a line of inscrutable signals running along the base, covering nearly all of it. He eyes it suspiciously, and looks back up at where Barrett stands, overseeing all of it. 

“The sword needs to be put back, Hamid,” Barrett says, and there’s more demand in his voice than there is request. “It’s the only thing that will work.”

Hamid stands there for a second - he doesn’t know what’ll happen to the Traces inside the sword when he puts it back, and he’s scared to find out. He hesitates a moment longer, staring down at the plinth.

_ It’s okay, Hamid,  _ he hears, and glances down at the sword at his side. He sounds so sad, so regretful, covering it up with gruffness and determination, but Hamid knows him better than that. 

“We, er - we are on a bit of a clock, you know,” Barrett says, a mix of amused and irritated that makes Hamid glare up at where he’s standing. 

_ I promise I’ll see you again. Okay?  _ he says, softly, and Hamid can’t do anything but nod. His chest feels raw, as though it’s been hewn open with each word, but there’s nothing he can do. They need to stop the simulacra, and there isn’t any more time. He closes his eyes as a tear slips out, sliding down his cheek before splashing to the floor below, and he presses his lips to the cold metal of the sword as his heart aches. 

_ I know,  _ he says softly, a moment only for them. Hamid holds the sword over the slot on the ground and the sword begins to dissolve, splinting into a thousand different fractals before reforming and sliding itself into the plinth.

_ I won’t let you go,  _ Hamid hears, and then again, more determined.  _ I will  _ **_not_ ** _ let you go.  _

It’s the last thing he hears as the room around him begins to spin - or maybe that’s just him, walls and ceilings of his mind spinning and moving and shifting as his vision whites out and he crumples to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i’m doing my best to make the lore make sense while using a game where the lore doesn’t make sense and the big lore dumps you get are convoluted and confusing and hinty so i’m just out here trying


	8. like it’s written in the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [avpsy voice] this is the end

_ Hamid. Wake up.  _ There’s a voice calling to him from somewhere, a voice he knows, and it sounds worried. Hamid wishes it wouldn’t; his head is pounding, and he doesn’t want to move.  _ Hamid, for goodness sakes, get up! _

Hamid mumbles and then coughs as his throat feels like something is scratching along the inside. He whimpers a bit and turns over, covering his head with his hands. A light shines through even still, and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

_ Hamid. Please. You need to wake up, okay? I - please. Can you open your eyes for me?  _ Hamid really doesn’t want to, but the voice sounds so sweet and so scared that he feels bad not doing so. He opens one eye first and, strangely, the bright light dims as he does so.  _ Thank god. Are you alright? You - I couldn’t find you, for -  _

The voice is cut off and Hamid sits up and frowns. He - he doesn’t recognize where they are, now; the memories come flooding back slowly. Cloudbank, the simulacra…  _ everything.  _ The last thing he remembers was driving the sword into the platform at the end of Barrett’s walkway. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a hoarse gasp; he looks up and sees Barrett stood in front of him. Hamid’s eyes drift down, and notice that Barrett is holding a sword, identical to the Transistor but for the inverted color scheme. Barrett lifts it as he watches, hand running almost reverently over the blade, and then he lets it drop again, tip brushing against the grass below. Hamid looks down and breathes a sigh of relief as he notices he still has his own, and grips the hilt a bit tighter. 

Barrett looks up and locks eyes with Hamid. “Well, Mr. Tahan, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you for bringing the Transistor back to me.” Hamid nods, hesitant and confused, and Barrett lets out a little laugh. “It worked, I can say that much. The simulacra are gone. Vanished. Cloudbank doesn’t have to worry about them anymore. Of course…” he trails off, tilting his head. “Someone has to be willing to rebuild it all again, in their own image.” 

He turns and walks away but doesn’t go far, and Hamid finally looks around properly. They’re in what looks like an open, square field surrounded by flowers, nothing but hills in the distance. There are containers all around them, containers with names Hamid recognizes. They’re all growing a faint blue, giving off an eerie light over this entire field.  _ Sasha Rackett, Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam, Azu, Brock Rackett, Celliquilithon Sidebottom,  _ Hamid reads, eyes darting around frantically as his hand comes up to cover his mouth. It’s the same as the hit list they found. 

So many people - so many people lost, now, so many people he cared about. All thanks to the actions of the Harlequins, who didn’t care who they hurt as long as they got their way. 

Hamid looks through the names again. He doesn’t see one particular name on any of them, and his stomach drops to his feet. There are a lot of implications behind that fact, and Hamid has to push the idea out of his brain now; the way Barrett’s looking at him, he’s not going to be able to have a distraction. 

“Have you figured it out yet?” Barrett asks, nearly too conversational for the situation. He rests the sword on his shoulder as he gazes across the field at Hamid, an unreadable look in his eyes. Hamid doesn’t like it; something is off in the air here, and it feels… wrong, somehow. Like a pressure is slowly building, like something is rising to a crescendo, and Hamid really doesn’t want to stick around to see what that is. But… he has a feeling, deep in his chest, that Barrett has no plans to let him get what he wants.

He can’t hear the voice anymore, either, and that scares him. 

“We’re in the Transistor, you see?” Barrett throws his arms out to the side, gesturing to the fields around them. “It’s peaceful, here. Safe. The simulacra can’t touch us, here.”

Barrett’s right, Hamid realizes. Everything here feels… different. Comforting, in a way Cloudbank never has been. It’s like it’s encouraging him to stay, wrapping him up in a warm cloud of air telling him that he’s come so far, that he could just relax now. 

It’s soothing; Hamid almost forgot what it felt like to not constantly be on the move, to not constantly be looking over his shoulder for the simulacra. Forgot what it was like to be able to not worry, for once. 

“Don’t you want to stay, Hamid?” Barrett says, and waves a hand. Behind him, just able to peek over his shoulder, is a carbon copy of a man Hamid recognizes, even with static covering his face. “With the power of the Transistor, we can make this real.  _ Together _ . You and your Mr. Smith can stay here. Forever. You can be  _ happy _ .”

Hamid can feel the tears building up behind his eyes as he stares at the man. He wants it - he does, so badly, so  _ tangibly _ . And it would be so easy to just… stop fighting. To let the air take him, to surrender the Transistor. He could be happy here; the air is whispering that much to him. Barrett’s expression is bordering on  _ fatherly,  _ almost, a mixed look of pity and approval and understanding on his face, and his arms are spread wide in an invitation for Hamid to accept the offer. 

Hamid closes his eyes, and laughs to himself, quietly,  _ bitterly.  _

It almost worked on him. Almost. 

But Barrett made a mistake, creating the illusion. Because Hamid knows what this is now - it’s not  _ real,  _ it’s nothing but a place Barrett created for their, to put a term to it, final battle. Hamid might have bought it, if Barrett hadn’t taken that final step. 

None of this is reality; it’s a trap - a good one, an almost seamless one, but it’s still just a trap, and it’s a trap Hamid  _ found.  _

He looks up at Barrett and sees a man left desperate. And that’s not Zolf. It can’t be. Because Barrett - _Barrett_ , the man who took him away - is standing right there in front of him, and Hamid _refuses_ to let him win. He’s. Not. _Scared._ Anymore.

Hamid straightens up and wipes the tear tracks off his cheeks, staring straight ahead at Barrett, determination rising like a fire in his eyes. He can’t speak. He doesn’t need to, not when the emotions are set in the lines of his face, not when he points his own sword straight at Barrett, face hard. 

And then he shakes his head. 

There’s a moment of what Hamid may have thought was stunned silence if it hadn’t been Barrett before he laughs. “Oh, Hamid. I knew you were the perfect choice for our experiment. Liliana chose  _ wonderfully _ . And, now, I’m sorry, but…” he sighs, as though this is all a minor inconvenience to him, and then he mirrors Hamid’s pose. 

There’s a decent amount of space in between them, space populated by the virtual coffins holding the Traces, but it feels like nothing more than five feet as Hamid’s pulse picks up. The sun still isn’t moving in the sky, and it glints off both of their swords as Hamid can feel the air begin to charge with electricity and tension. 

“Only one of us makes it out of here,” Barrett says, and Hamid closes his eyes for no longer than a second, before opening them and nodding. “Whoever does… they’ll have full control over the Transistor. It’s the key to  _ everything,  _ even now. And I want it.”

Hamid takes a step back, grip tightening on the sword. Barrett just laughs, eyes never leaving Hamid. 

“Oh, please,” he says, dismissive as ever. “I’ve seen what you’ve done to my colleagues and the simulacra. I’m not stupid enough to underestimate you.”

Hamid feels his stomach do a sick flip as he thinks about Liliana, about the sword splitting her open, about the Spine being torn apart by his makeshift explosive. He swallows, heavy; there’s no time for guilt now, and they were all too far gone for him to do anything else. His hand doesn’t shake where he holds the sword, and he stares ahead with determination flowing through his veins as Barrett tilts his head, considering.

“I think we - oh, my dearest apologies,  _ I _ \- have done more than enough talking. Please, feel free to make the first move,” he lowers the sword, a deeply magnanimous gesture given in the most sarcastic way he knows how, but Hamid pauses, mouth dry. It has to be a trap. There’s no way it’s not a trap, not even  _ slightly _ , and Hamid’s just waiting for the catch. 

Hamid takes a step forward, hesitating. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows what his friends would do, were they here, but Hamid doesn’t - it feels like a trap, and has to be a trap, because it’s  _ Barrett,  _ and he wouldn’t just… let this happen. 

Would he?

Hamid just stands there for another second, waiting, trying to puzzle it out, knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. 

“I won’t wait all day, you know,” Barrett says, as casual as anything, as though they’re discussing the weather and not how he’s letting Hamid potentially kill him without even giving himself a fighting chance.

Hamid bites his lip, considering. He decides not to go for the killing blow, so sure that Barrett has a plan in place, but he still makes a show of it, winding up and striking. It goes just shy of Barrett’s neck, Hamid pausing the swing so that it nicks a bit of skin. Blood drips down from the cut as Hamid waits for whatever trap this is to go off. 

“You  _ missed,”  _ Barret says, and the blood in Hamid’s veins turns to ice at the gentle malice in those two simple words. He only has a second to regret it, to regret not going straight for the killing blow when Barrett’s head snaps up, looking him straight in the eye as Hamid flinches. 

Barrett winks at him, and suddenly, Hamid can’t move. It’s like ice has slid over his entire body, but it’s not cold. There’s a whisper in his head, murmuring something he can’t make out. He’s stuck, here, sword hanging uselessly in his grip as Barrett stalks around him. 

“Lesson number one, Mr. Tahan,” Barrett says, so smoothly that it’s like silk as he leans in, nasty smile curling at his lips. “When given the advantage,  _ take it _ .” 

Hamid can’t even scream as Barrett slides the sword across his shoulder - it’s not even a deep cut, but it  _ stings _ , and it’s like the second of pain snaps him out of whatever hold Barrett had on him. He stumbles back, clutching at the wound as blood flows between his fingers. Barrett hadn’t even gone for the right shoulder, when he could have easily impeded Hamid’s fighting ability or, hell, just killed him then and there. 

“That was a  _ warning _ ,” Barrett says, and he’s relaxed now, staring at Hamid with his sword raised, a lazy smile on his face. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Hamid readies himself, sword raised even with Barrett’s as the other man smirks. Neither of them move forward, circling around each other as they both take the other’s measure. 

Barrett moves suddenly and silently, coming up on Hamid quicker than he should be able to. Hamid knocks his sword away, and then they’re both struggling to hit the other, swords only coming up in time to defend and block as they fight, moving across the field. 

Barrett swings and Hamid ducks as the sword whistles over his head, nearly clipping the top of his skull. The sword clangs loudly as it connects with one of the containers in between them, but doesn’t tear the metal. Hamid uses the second Barrett takes as a recovery period to dash away, ducking and weaving in between the containers as he hears Barrett swear from behind him. 

And then he can’t move again, can only rest there in a slowly-dawning horror as he hears Barrett walking toward him. He strains with all his might against the hold, and can feel himself moving infinitesimally with each millisecond. It’s small, but it’s enough. 

Barrett comes around the side of the container and strikes. Hamid breaks the hold just in time, rolling forward. Barrett’s sword crashes into the ground where Hamid’s just been, and then he’s up, scrambling away as Barrett swears under his breath. Barrett pulls the sword from the grass and charges Hamid, raising it high. Hamid’s only just able to hold his own up as Barrett strikes. The force sends him stumbling back, on the defensive as Barrett presses the advantage. 

Their swords clang together over and over again, reverberations shuddering their way up Hamid’s arms as he continues to do nothing but block Barrett’s sword before it can hit home. 

Barrett fights like someone who’s been trained all their life, and Hamid fights like a cornered animal, lashing out as much as he can in the seconds he has. It’s enough to keep Barrett at bay, but if Barrett can make his entire body refuse to respond to him again… Hamid’s well on his way to being in trouble. 

Or maybe not. A few moments have passed, and Hamid can… he can  _ feel  _ something. A warning thrum in his sword, sending electricity through his fingers, and he doesn’t think at all, just acts, making a mad dash away from Barrett. He gets far enough, nearly about to dive behind another container when he feels his entire body freeze up again.

“Where are you running off to?” Barrett calls after him, and Hamid can hear the smugness in his voice. “We haven’t finished yet.”

Hamid struggles against the hold, straining, begging it to let him go so that he can get behind cover. The sword is still humming, and Hamid can feel its presence fighting against the control as well, pushing against it, and it breaks again just as Barrett swings. 

It’s not quick enough; Hamid dodges most of the blow, but the tip of the sword clips along his side, ripping the jacket and dress underneath as he falls. He hisses with pain, but can’t do much about it now except scamper away and stand, unsteadily, as Barrett’s expression falls into annoyance. 

It doesn’t last long though, and then he’s all smug again, targeting Hamid with blows that keep pressing him back until he’s trapped against a container, only just blocking Barrett’s strikes.

Hamid’s mind races. Whatever… whatever mind control Barrett used on him to make him stop, it doesn't last long, and it takes a while to recharge. Hamid just has to get as far away from him as he can, wait for Barrett to expend it, and  _ strain _ against it with all his might, just enough to be able to snap out of it, dodge out of the way, and then use Barrett’s moment of distraction to strike. 

He can do this. He  _ has  _ to do this.

He jumps to the side, rolling on the ground and leaping to his feet before Barrett can get another blow in. Barrett turns to face him but Hamid strikes first this time, hammering on Barrett’s sword. He’s not strong enough to push Barrett back, not even slightly, but at least he’s fast enough to keep him on his toes.

And then, Hamid gets lucky. He manages to nick Barrett on the side of the neck while Barrett is trying to parry his attack, and Barrett swears, stumbling back. Hamid can feel the sword warning him again, shuddering violently, and he runs off, getting a good distance between them before the control takes hold of him again. 

Barrett doesn’t even get close before Hamid’s broken the grip, dodging in between the containers to put more distance between them. He loses sight of Barrett, coming to a halt stood in the middle of four of the containers, breath coming in huge gasps as he glances around. He can’t hear anything; isn’t sure if Barrett is trying to sneak up on him. His head is on a swivel, scanning each direction, and then he gets a glimpse of Barrett skulking in between two of the containers. Hamid ducks behind another, trying to turn this into his advantage.

He hears a whistle next to him and instinctively leaps back, just missing the sword slamming down into the container. It leaves a dent, and Hamid scrambles backwards on hands and feet, barely able to get out of the way and stand as Barrett keeps bearing down on him. 

He can see Barrett is starting to get frustrated; the calm smirk he’s been wearing is gone, replaced by what could charitably be called a snarl, and his hair is more matted than before, sweat dripping from his forehead. It’s not just him; Hamid’s in a similar state, chest heaving as he weaves and dodges and tries not to get caught in Barrett’s grip.

“You won’t win,” Barrett taunts, and parries Hamid’s attack, shoving him back as their swords collide. Sparks fly off from the metal, showering around them as Hamid breathes heavily, exhaustion pulling at each one of his limbs. He can barely even stand, but he can’t give up now. Can’t give in, not when he has someone depending on him, when Barrett is the worst option at salvation the city could get. Hamid’s the only one standing between him and complete power over the Transistor. 

He doesn’t have much time to think about it more before Barrett is on him and Hamid’s ducking around the canisters, feeling guilty as Barrett’s sword crashes into the side of it. It doesn’t glance off it this time, though, lodging itself into the metal and sticking as Barrett grunts. 

It’s an  _ opening _ . 

Hamid lunges, a desperate motion, and the sword connects, ripping through clothes and flesh alike as it tears against Barrett’s stomach. Barrett  _ howls _ with pain as he falls to his knees, sword slipping from his grip as he does. It falls with a quiet thump, laying discarded in the slowly-rippling grass, and Hamid steps back, chest heaving as he watches Barrett.

Blood drips from Barrett’s mouth as he clutches the gash stretching across his abdomen. He smiles, a nightmarish sight, and laughs, a sound that echoes around this space outside of reality. 

“Fine. You did it,” he says, and attempts to get to his feet. It’s a lost cause, really, as he crumples back down with a gasp. “You bested me. Are you proud?”

Hamid doesn’t say anything. He can’t, but he doesn’t want to give Barrett the satisfaction either. Barrett sinks down further, and gives up on trying to stand, laying flat on his back as blood spreads in a circle around him.

“You know,” he muses, voice as dry as sandpaper. “Killing me won’t bring him back.”

Hamid doesn’t  _ care.  _

He brings the sword up high and strikes Barrett through the chest.  _ It wasn’t just for him _ , he thinks, and he knows Barrett can’t hear his thoughts, but, gods, if it isn’t satisfying, telling him exactly what he thinks. ‘ _ It’s for Sasha. And Grizzop. And Azu. And everyone else you had the audacity to think yourself above in this sad excuse for a city. And more importantly? It’s for  _ **_me,’_ ** Hamid thinks viciously, staring down at him.

He pulls the sword out eventually, blood spilling from the new hole in Barrett’s chest as he crumples to the dirt, still. 

Sasha would be… proud, Hamid thinks, standing above Barrett’s lifeless body. He almost expects it to move, almost expects it to flicker, disappear, but no. Barrett’s just a man, and he died like a coward, and Hamid is the only person still alive who knows it. 

The sword is gone, though, Hamid realizes. It’s vanished, somewhere, although Hamid still has hold of his own. He takes a step back, adrenaline finally starting to leave his body, and collapses to the ground, breathing heavily. His fingers clutch the dirt beneath him, barely able to hold his weight up. His arms are shaking with the effort, and he can feel tears splashing onto his hands below as he finally lets himself fall, pressing his forehead to the back of his hands. His eye slip closed as the breeze blows through the field, brushing through his hair and against his skin. 

The breeze disappears suddenly, and Hamid is so  _ cold,  _ shivering as he lays on a hard concrete floor. He’s curled up on himself, and he can feel the handle of the sword in his hand.

_ Hamid! Hamid, are you okay?  _ he hears, but he can’t answer.  _ It’s over. Hamid, you won, it’s over. You did it,  _ he hears, murmured words of encouragement, and he groans, trying to push himself up. He doesn’t get far before his arms give out, and he lays there splayed on his back staring up at the dark roof of Barrett’s warehouse.  _ Hey. It’s okay, take it slow. That was a lot, yeah? You can relax a bit. _

Hamid takes a few deep breaths, letting his forearm cover his eyes as he wills the tears to stay at bay. He can feel the damp tracks already left on his cheeks, and he doesn’t think he has anything left to cry. 

_ You - you did it, love. Really. You won. We made it out. They lost,  _ he hears, and can’t help the smile that creeps along his face. It’s bittersweet, the victory. He won, but the city lost. His friends, his family… they all lost, because of a group, power-hungry and desperate, that thought they could change the world with no consequence. 

He does stand up, eventually. His legs are shaky, and the sword feels too heavy in his hands as he tries to walk forward. A railing materializes in the warehouse, running the length of the path Hamid walked to get down here, and the barriers all vanish one by one, leaving him a clear path out. He holds onto the railing tightly, using the sword as a makeshift crutch as he walks along, helping him keep his balance. 

It’s bright outside, when he finally makes it out of the warehouse. He glances back one time, and watches the entire place dissolve and fade away in a matter of moments, like it was never even there in the first place. If Barrett’s body ever made it back, there won’t be a single trace of it anymore. 

_ Er - how’d that happen? _ he hears, and bites his lip. He thinks he knows, but he still can’t be sure. The sword is humming in his grip, something he doesn’t think anyone else but himself can hear.

Hamid makes it to the edge of the city without seeing a single simulacra, and it takes nothing more than a thought and a point of the sword to normalize the path ahead, to remove the doors and platforms and lay it all in front of him, flat. He considers, for a moment, and then turns back to the city, holding the sword up high. In an instant, it’s just like he remembers it looking when he was a child visiting; cobblestone roads and old brick buildings that rarely go more than two stories high. 

_ Wow. Barrett said it was the key, but I didn’t think it was this powerful _ , he hears, and nods. Hamid hadn’t believed him either, not really. But now he knows - the sword is… everything. The control switch, and Hamid’s hand is the one hovering over the buttons. 

He turns and faces the bridge, and closes his eyes. The sword thrums in his grasp and then it’s like a paintbrush swept over the entire world, and the bridge is a glittering black and white masterpiece, statues and paraphernalia and bouquets of flowers lining the railings, hard iron surface looking polished and immaculate.

He hears a whistle and flicks the sword, which probably hurts him more, but it still felt good. The bridge is more elaborate than anything he’s seen in Cloudbank, except maybe for some of the structures in the richest district of the city. Still, there’s no one around apart from them to admire it, anymore, and so Hamid steps onto the bridge, slowly dispelling the fog as he goes. 

He could change the entire city, with this sword. Could build it anew, a gorgeous, sprawling thing that towers above the surrounding areas, a beautiful structure that teems with life and energy. 

But… it doesn’t feel right. Erasing the mistakes of the past, doing nothing but rebuilding and rebuilding and never paying tribute to the tragedies lost here… it leaves a bad taste in Hamid’s mouth. 

_ What are you going to do? You have control over the city now. _

Hamid… doesn’t really care. The city, the Harlequins, all the destruction and chaos and death that he endured to make it back here… it was really all for one thing. The Harlequins were the one who wanted to change everything, to reset and unbalance the system, turn it in their favor. Hamid has that power now; he could recreate the city in his image. He already has the paintbrush to do the job - the sword in his hands. It would be so  _ easy  _ to change everything, to start rebuilding, to create a new vision.

Well, he’s never been much of a visionary. He doesn’t care about changing everything, he just wants to bring one person back. 

He steps off the bridge, and they’re back. Back where  _ everything  _ began, back where everything was irrevocably changed forever, and he takes a breath as he holds the sword up. With a thought, everything goes back to how it looked that night, stone and iron fencing, and a body, propped against the metal. 

He’s only got one shot at this, he realizes, as he kneels down in front of the body he found what feels like days ago. It can’t have been more than an evening, as dawn is finally beginning to peek between the chrome buildings that stretch higher than the eye can see. The sword is flickering faintly, a bit brighter than normal the closer he gets to the body. He… he doesn’t know  _ how _ he knows it’s going to work, but there’s a quiet whisper in the back of his mind telling him exactly what he needs to do. 

_ Hamid, I - you just need to go. Don’t worry about me, okay?  _ he hears, a command more than a request, and he can’t help it. He presses his lips to the cold metal of the sword, just a brief reminder, and reaches out to the dead man’s face, rubbing his thumb along his cheek as the tears start slipping down his face. He smiles, watery, looking at the man, and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

_ Hamid. Go. _

He stands again; he’s going to really need some leverage for this, and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have to hold the sword anymore; at a thought, it floats above him, and then turns, tip pointing straight down as though it’s become a sword of Damocles. The little voice in the back of his head is encouraging him, spurring him on, and Hamid nods, once, before looking at the body in front of him, remembering every time he’s ever kissed those lips, every time he’s pressed their foreheads together, every laugh he’s ever made. He lets his eyes slip closed, and turns up toward the sky where the sword sits, waiting. 

_ Hamid. Hamid, what the hell are you doing?  _ The voice says, and he’s panicking now; Hamid would swear he could feel the sword vibrating if he didn’t know swords couldn’t  _ do _ that - although this particular sword does a lot that swords shouldn’t be able to do. 

_ Hamid! _

His hand strikes down in a decisive motion and the sword is driven into the ground next to the body. It sits there, silent, concrete cracking around it, spreading off in little spiderwebs of breakage. A blue light shoots out of it, almost like a trace, and Hamid watches as it spins and spins and spins until vanishing. Another vein of blue light traces its way up his arm and wraps around his throat as he gasps in a breath. 

The sword, always glowing a bright blue, dulls, flickers out slowly as the voice fades from his mind, as the sword dims to become nothing other than silver, chipped and cracked around the edges, and Hamid slumps forward over it, hands gripping the hilt as he tries to steady it.

Zolf coughs, where he’s leaning against the bannister, and Hamid claps his hands over his mouth, tears falling down his cheeks. He’s on Zolf in a moment, wrapping his arms around his neck as he buries his head in his neck. Zolf’s hands come up and rest gently on his hips, breath coming out steady and soft against Hamid’s hair. “Hi,” he whispers, and his voice is just as in love as it’s always been, and Hamid cries harder, hands bunching in the folds of his coat as he clings to him. “Ow.”

Hamid backs off of him the second he speaks, and Zolf sits up carefully. There’s still a trickle of blood stretching from his mouth to his chin like a particularly ugly paint stroke, and looks around, confused. His arm wraps around his midsection as he winces, and Hamid hovers there a bit inelegantly, hands fluttering uselessly in the air as he considers what to do. 

He doesn’t need to have worried as much. Zolf makes the decision for him, smiling as he holds one hand out to Hamid, and Hamid crowds in closer. “Hey, Hamid.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Hamid whispers back, voice hoarse with disuse and tears, as his forehead presses against Zolf’s. Zolf’s hand comes up and rests against his cheek, and then he’s kissing him,  _ finally _ , a desperate press of lips as they cling to each other. There’s blood on Zolf’s lips and tears streaking down Hamid’s cheeks, but god, there’s never been anything as perfect as this. 

“God, you did it,” Zolf whispers, lips brushing against Hamid’s as his fingers find Hamid’s and tangle together. “I always knew you would.”

Hamid gives a bit of a watery laugh at that, and pulls their joined hands up to his heart, pressing them against his chest. “You helped, you know. Every step of the way.”

Zolf snorts. “I was trapped in a sword. You did all the hard work, Hamid.” He wraps Hamid in a tight hug and Hamid goes willingly, arms snaking around Zolf’s back as he squeezes him gently. He lets out a breath as he tucks his head into Zolf’s neck.

“I never thought I would see you again,” he hiccoughs, tears still flowing, and sniffles. “I - I didn’t know this would work, I -“

“Hey, hey, Hamid, it’s okay,” Zolf says, rubbing comforting circles on his back. “It did. You saved me. You beat Barrett. And I’m here.”

Hamid nods. He can feel the warmth of Zolf’s body under him and takes a deep breath as he tries to calm down. It helps, having Zolf close again. “I - I thought - when me and Barrett were fighting, before it started, he created another you in the sword, and - god, Zolf, I wanted to go to it so  _ badly _ but - I knew it wasn’t real, I did, but it was just so -“ Hamid can’t finish, biting his lip as he tries not to spiral further.

“It’s alright,” Zolf murmurs, letting his lips rest against Hamid’s temple, nearly brushing against his hair. “I’m here. Okay?” He grabs Hamid’s hand in his and wraps their fingers together, using the other to tilt Hamid’s face up so he’s looking him in the eye. “I’m never leaving your side again.”

Hamid just nods, unable to do much more, and moves his arms so that they’re locked behind Zolf’s neck, pulling him down so that their foreheads press together. He sighs, shakily, and rubs his thumb against the top of Zolf’s spine.

“You’re here,” he whispers, and can feel Zolf nod. 

“I’m here,” he whispers back.

Hamid never wants to let him go. So he doesn’t, sat there with Zolf’s arms resting lightly around his waist, listening to the silent world around them. The city hasn’t made a noise since Hamid’s made it back, not a single creak or groan, and he doesn’t know if it’s more or  _ less  _ reassuring than he thought it would be. It’s definitely unexpected, and Hamid’s on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, now that everything seems to be in a power vacuum. 

He’s content to just stay here in Zolf’s arms. although… they don’t have all the time in the world, not here, not now. Zolf echoes the sentiment.

“We should go,” Zolf says eventually, and Hamid draws back. “Barrett said it worked, that the simulacra have to all be gone now. Don't really care to stick around and see how things change, not anymore.”

“Y - yeah, you’re right,” Hamid says, wiping his eyes. “We need to get out of here.”

Zolf gently deposits him on the ground and stands, grimacing as he puts weight on his prosthetic. Still, despite the pain he’s clearly in, he reaches a hand down to Hamid, helping him stand up. 

His hands linger on the coat as Hamid rises, and Hamid glances down before realizing. “Oh! Do you - would you like it back? Sorry, I just - I needed  _ something. _ ”

Zolf’s already shaking his head before Hamid can continue. “No, it - it looks good on you”, he says, fond smile on his face, so fond that Hamid can’t help but lean up on his tiptoes and kiss him again, soft and sweet. Zolf kisses back but eventually pushes Hamid away.

“We need to  _ go _ ,” he reminds Hamid, and it almost sounds like he’s trying to remind himself too. “Any ideas?”

Hamid bites his lip, until - “The bike! It should be around here somewhere, if I remember? I drove it back on the way out to Fairview. Follow me.”

They’re getting out of Cloudbank. Tonight. The simulacra might not still roam the streets, but Hamid’s down one sword and doesn’t much want to see if Barrett is telling the truth. Hamid thankfully still has Zolf’s old motorcycle, tucked away down an alleyway, somehow, even though it had been left behind, and Hamid leads him over to it. He’s driven the old girl enough at this point, just situates Zolf behind him as he revs it up. Zolf’s still a little out of it, a little tired, but he’s warm against Hamid’s back, and his arms are a comfort as they wrap around his waist, holding on tight. 

The simulacra, if they’re still around, won’t be able to follow them if they make it to the farmlands. It’s contained to the city, it’s primary motive to rebuild and recreate Cloudbank in its own image. It won’t care about the outskirts, about the two who got away. Hamid had the key to the city, in the end, and he left it behind for them to use. He doesn’t care anymore. Everyone else he loves is dead, but Zolf is still here, still leaning against his back, a comfort. He kicks the bike up a gear as they speed even faster away. 

They can make a new life, outside of the city. They can be happy. 

They won. Hamid got his voice back, Zolf got his body back. The Harlequins lost. 

They stop the bike once they’re out of the city proper, completely unable to see Cloudbank anymore. It’s started to go green again, dust kicking up behind the bike, and they’re sheltered by a canopy of trees. 

“What’s going to happen?” Zolf asks, and Hamid shrugs, wrapping his arms around Zolf’s waist as he presses a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t know; neither of them do, that’s sort of the whole point, but Hamid hopes that they both get a happy ending.

The Harlequins are dead; if the simulacra are still around, they can have the sword. Hamid left it there on purpose. They don’t have a reason to chase him anymore. Maybe he and Zolf can find an old spaceport; Zolf used to be a sailor, traveling among the stars, and Hamid is a fast learner. They can leave the entire planet behind; run off, the two of them, find somewhere else away from robots and away from a dead city. 

“I don’t know,” Hamid answers, honestly. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Zolf pulls him close and gently puts an arm around Hamid’s shoulders. “I’m driving, now,” he murmurs, kissing Hamid on the temple. “I know someplace we can go to.”

Hamid doesn’t let go of Zolf’s hand as he pulls him toward the bike, and swings his legs over it as Zolf kicks the brakes up. He wraps his arms around Zolf’s waist and relaxes against his back. 

Whatever will come, will come. Maybe Barrett did have a point; Hamid’s tired of living in a world where everything, every  _ outcome _ , is manufactured. He and Zolf can face the unknowns together, for as long as they both live. He shifts a bit closer to Zolf as the bike tears off into the distance, and closes his eyes, breathing in deep. 

They’ll be okay. They  _ won. _ The bike disappears into the distance as the rolling hills start to swallow everything and the moon becomes their only light to shine the way. Behind them, the city shifts and moves, completely unrecognizable, a beacon of what they left behind. 

And, together, they drive off into the unknown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHES FINALLY DONE!!! thank u to everyone who’s stuck it out, i’m v proud of this entire fic (and now it’s. the third longest fic in the fandom if i did my maths correctly which. huh.) and i hope u all enjoyed!! 
> 
> the ending in the game is... a lot more grim, but i don’t like it, so instead i decided to make it hopeful. comments and kudos, as always, are super appreciated!! 
> 
> also fun behind the scenes fact. there’s a really interesting mechanic in this game that’s just. you freeze time while planning out battle moves and i was never able to make it work until now and also i’m not sure i did SO. bri can have little a bodily loss of control, as a treat

**Author's Note:**

> my brand is “plays video game and makes a rqg au of it” (one day i’ll cave and write a pokémon au i just know it)
> 
> anyway. i love transistor, but the ending sucked imo so i changed it
> 
> also uh. most everyone is dead. sorry
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated!


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